


I Had A Lover's Quarrel With the World

by Abrus



Series: This Uncertain Age [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abrus/pseuds/Abrus
Summary: Voldemort has a daughter with a woman known only as "Her." Orphaned and left to the care of Severus Snape the night Voldemort attacks Godric's Hollow, Aveline is raised by some very confused and morally ambiguous Death Eaters until Fate throws a curve at them all; Aveline's soul is Bound to two others, including Draco Malfoy... and the Boy-Who-Lived. Promised to her father's servants and tied to his worst enemy, Aveline must learn to navigate the dark present in order to determine her own future.





	1. Chapter One

_“She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes; thus mellowed to that tender light, which heaven to gaudy day denies.” - Lord Byron_

 

****

**Prologue**

**1979**

 

The air is cool and still inside of the Manor, but Narcissa knows it is about to drop several degrees.

She sits politely, with her hands folded and her ankles crossed demurely under her chair. Her spine is stiffer than what is perhaps appropriate, but she must brace herself for what is about to come.

Across from her, her sister slumps in her seat with boredom. Narcissa can remember when their mother used to scold her for slumping like that. It was eons ago.

Narcissa wishes she had something to do with her hands. She wishes she were undisciplined enough to fiddle idly with her wand, casting Dark curses nonchalantly at the wall like Bella.

She watches as another hole slowly burns through the wallpaper on the parlor wall. She flinches just a bit. That was new wallpaper.

“Bella, perhaps you could-”

“Oh, hush now, Cissy,” Bellatrix smirks. Her black makeup is even thicker tonight than usual. Her raggedy lace drapes off the chair like some sort of bizarre funeral shroud. Narcissa faintly wonders how anyone could possibly be comfortable in that many layers of tight lace. She’s always preferred silk.

In the room next to the parlor, she hears the hoots and whoops of the men. She subconsciously places a hand over her stomach; not all of the Death Eaters are here yet. Bellatrix had been proper enough to visit with her for a little while, but Narcissa knows she’ll abandon her soon enough to join in with tonight’s Dark Revel. Lucius had promised that no more Revels would be held in their home once he’d found out about her pregnancy. So far, he had kept his word. The Dark Lord had even been so kind as to place protection spells on the wife of his most loyal Death Eater.

She tries not to shudder as she remembers the cool magic sliding over her skin, coming from a wand that has murdered countless. Narcissa has always held fierce attraction for cruelty, but not of the physical kind. Now that is all that is left.

Narcissa blinks as demurely as she can and reaches for the list of stars and constellations she borrowed from the Black family library. She wants to choose the perfect one. She knows somewhere deep inside of her that this child will be a boy; Malfoys always have boys.

It is the only child she will be permitted to have.

Bellatrix studies her movements with sharp eyes, and then cackles. “Going for Cygnus Junior? Hmm?”

Narcissa wrinkles her nose delicately at the mention of their father. “No.”

Bellatrix cackles wildly again, and Narcissa clenches her mouth against the bile rising in her throat. Her morning sickness has just stopped after three weeks, and besides, it is now late in the evening; but Bellatrix and the depth of her madness still sicken her.

“Walberga, then? Ickle Malfoy brat could be a girl. Would serve Lucius right, for all his talk about the next great era of Malfoy _men_.” There is blatant contempt in Bellatrix’s voice.

Narcissa’s anger flares within her. Her hormones drive her crazy. Narcissa has always been calm and collected and controlled. She cannot stand that her emotions drag her along the way they do. So far, being pregnant has been a great bore. She wants to feel her child move, wants to feel her child’s heartbeat, wants her child in her arms and wants her child’s nursery things to finally be shipped already so she can begin decorating.

_Her_ child.

She already loves him. She loves him with everything she has.

Her sister is mad. Her sister is gone. Narcissa’s love for her sister is purely nostalgic now. And her sister has just _insulted_ her child.

She raises one eyebrow at Bellatrix. “ _Ickle Malfoy brat_ will be half a Black.”

“And that is the only thing making it worthy of such a name.” Bellatrix gestures towards the list of stars in Narcissa’s hand with her wand, and instantly a corner of the top page lights on fire.

Narcissa’s heart leaps into her throat. She loathes Dark magic. It is useless. It is cowardly. She reaches slowly into the pocket of her robes and extinguishes the flame.

She feels it the second the Dark Lord and the rest of his minions arrive in her manor.

Instantly her husband swoops into the room, his face carefully blank. She eyes the men rushing through the halls, the men that hiss at Bellatrix as she files into line with them. Her sister hisses back, entirely at ease among rapists and murderers and monsters. Then Narcissa smiles up at her husband and places her hand in his. She pretends her knees do not shake as she walks to the largest drawing room they possess.

The Dark Lord is already seated in a large armchair, in front of an empty stone fireplace. The room is shady and colder than the rest of the house.

Narcissa’s eyes find those of Severus. He scans her face; he has been anxious for her since the announcement of her pregnancy. He knows what stress of this nature does to her. He knows better than anyone how fragile Narcissa is. She is no Bellatrix. She holds no stomach for the cruelty she has so much admiration for. The child growing inside of her is his godson. He has a right to be worried.

She gives him a stiff nod, making sure to turn her nose upward at the greetings of the Death Eaters lower in rank than her husband. Appearances are everything. _Appearances are everything._

Her heart pounds out of her chest when her eyes slide over to meet Voldemort’s. Her husband has guided her to the forefront of the room, through rows and rows of Death Eaters. She feels her husband bow low to the ground.

“My Lord,” he murmurs. His tone is pure reverence. The first time she was witness to this, she was reminded of the images in the Muggle books Andromeda used to smuggle from Muggle stores and read to her; the ones where valiant knights bowed low in front of high kings. It seemed fitting of her aristocratic Lucius. Now she is not so sure.

“Lucius.” The word is a slippery sigh from the Dark Lord. His slitted eyes and nose don’t match his wispy brown hair. In another world he might have been attractive, Narcissa thinks. He certainly still is to Bellatrix.

She tastes bile again at the thought.

She immediately inclines her head when her husband rises, and leaves her eyes on the floor. She will not bow. She will not curtsy. She will not prostrate herself in front of this vile creature. She is no servant of his.

“Darkest of Lords,” she greets. She always comes up with clever ways of referring to him. She refuses to make him her master, even in words. He never notices. He laps up the false praise like her husband laps up power.

“Lady Malfoy. You look as radiant as always. I trust the potions I sent with your husband were beneficial to you?”

Narcissa blinks, her mind scrambling. Potions? Ah, yes. The morning sickness potions. The Dark Lord had sent them, along with his congratulations, upon hearing of her pregnancy. She had taken them from Lucius with a sparkle in her eyes and a delighted squeal, and when he had left, she had shattered the vials in the sink and watched as the potions siphoned down the drain.

She has hidden her sickness from her husband ever since.

“Incredibly beneficial, Your Darkness. I was most gracious. Thank you for such a thoughtful gift.” She meets his eyes again, and feels a tickle against the corners of her mind.

“You are most welcome, Narcissa. Lucius, offer your wife a chair. This will be a long meeting, and she should not be standing in her _delicate_ condition.” There is a hint of mocking under his tone, but Voldemort looks at Lucius expectantly.

Lucius is obviously confused- she is no Death Eater, out long a member of the Inner Circle- but he does as is requested and gracefully leads her to the most comfortable chair in the room.

Narcissa watches as Bellatrix throws herself to the floor in front of Lord Voldemort. Her black hair fans out on the expensive hardwood, and her back arches as she folds herself against her knees.

_The higher you are, the harder you fall,_ Narcissa thinks wryly.

“Bella,” the Dark Lord nods, barely glancing at her. As always, Rodolphus seems pained at his wife’s submission to another man. He also seems resigned.

Bellatrix scrambles to her feet and to the left of the Dark Lord. Lucius sighs next to Narcissa- out of frustration, boredom, or more reverence she can’t tell- and takes his place to the right.

“My friends,” Voldemort begins. His voice is low and almost as Dark as his magic. “Tonight, we gather together to Revel; to Revel in chaos and Darkness and despair. We gather to celebrate victories of comrades, and to deal out justice and punishment to Muggleborns and those that sympathize with them.”

_Andromeda. Nymphadora._ Panic flashes through Narcissa, as cold and shady as this room in her beloved Manor. She pushes it back and places both palms on her flat stomach. She desperately wishes she had a list of names to distract her now.

What could the Dark Lord have to say that she would possibly need to hear?

The Death Eaters cheer in agreement to their Lord’s small speech. Then he dismisses them, and all but the Inner Circle file out. Narcissa sits unnaturally still, waiting. She hopes she will be asked to leave soon. Considering she’s still permitted to sit in a chair instead of standing in the half circle gathered around Voldemort, she seriously doubts it.

“My most loyal of servants…” Voldemort begins, then pauses to collect his thoughts a moment. He stands, pushing his chair almost into the fireplace behind him in his haste. “I have been giving a personal objective much consideration. I would like your thoughts on it.”

Narcissa’s hands begin to shake. The Dark Lord never asks for the opinions of his followers unless he has already made up his mind. What horrendous thing is he going to do? Is she sitting in this room, in this chair, because he is about to propose a raid on Andromeda’s home? Does he know about the letters hidden in her bureau drawer? Does he know about the secret photograph of her niece, the one in which her hair changes color over and over? Does he know how much love she still has for her bloodtraitor family?

Love and traitors are two things the Dark Lord will never tolerate.

“In Pureblood society, it is important to carry on the legacy of ones lineage.”

_What?_

All the breath leaves Narcissa’s lungs. The rush of air is noticed by all in the room, and she feels lightheaded. With relief or a different kind of sheer terror, she doesn’t know. The hardest emotions for Narcissa to evaluate are her own.

The Dark Lord raises an eyebrow at her. “Lady Malfoy. You look very pale. Are you well?”

This is her chance. Her chance to claim illness and go lie upstairs in her bed until Voldemort leaves her home.

But she must know his new plans. If he is including her in this, it must directly affect her. And now, whatever affects her affects her child.

She’ll stay.

“I am fine, oh Dark Lord. I apologize. Sometimes my condition can cause shortness of breath. It will pass momentarily.”

It is a blatant lie, but the only thing the Dark Lord knows about pregnant women is that to kill one is to add two to his personal body count.

He blinks at her in irritation and continues. “As you all know, I come from a most noble and reputable bloodline. It dates back to Salazar Slytherin himself.”

The room full of Death Eaters all nod and mumble in respect. Narcissa resists the urge to roll her eyes and focuses on calming her heart rate. Her blood pounding through her veins this quickly cannot possibly be healthy for her child.

“I shall be immortal.”

This is not the first time Voldemort has declared that, but it still sends terror throughout her body. She won’t imagine a lifetime of groveling to this man. It would drive her madder than her sister.

“As such, I will have no need for an heir. However, I have found myself considering it. I came across a very powerful spell in my research weeks ago; it reveals the most perfect mate to the caster. I would very much like a protégée. There are times when I need more than the most loyal of my servants in an area where I cannot be present myself. Also, I would like for the line to continue. I cannot deny wanting my blood to run through the veins of another. A dynasty would be the highest form of flattery.”

Narcissa presses her stomach more firmly into her hands. She wishes she could feel her child. She truly does. How can he consider a child a thing and not a beautiful honor? To carry the young man her child will undoubtedly become is the thing she is most grateful for; she has never considered the fact that he will have her blood to be important past the fact that it will be pure and he will have a station in society always secure for him.

“The dilemma I have, you see, is whether or not to cast the spell.”

Bellatrix speaks first. Narcissa knew she would. There is a manic glint in Bellatrix’s eyes. Though her husband is standing right next to her, Bellatrix desperately and blatantly wants to be the one to carry the Dark Lord’s child.

“My Lord. The spell has risks. What if the one it decides is your best mate is a woman who is on the side of the Light? Surely she would be alerted. She would run from the honor of being the one to carry-”

“Yes, yes.” Voldemort interrupts her and scrapes his nails through his hair. It is the most agitatedly human thing Narcissa has ever seen him do. “But the woman who is my best mate is surely the one that will instill the child with the most power. I will produce my offspring through force if necessary.”

Narcissa’s hands spring from her stomach to the arms of her chair. She digs her nails into the soft upholstery. Rape. He is speaking of rape as though it as just as common as making love.

She has never felt more grateful to have a doting husband that makes every act of theirs pleasurable. He is one of the few that refuses to degrade himself and her by forcing himself on another woman. That is where she has drawn the line. She has told him so. If he rapes someone, she will know, and she will leave. Money, prestige, and reputation be damned.

She scans the Dark Lord and his mutilated body. She shudders at the thought of him doing such a thing.

Even across the room, Lucius senses her unease. “My Lord, I do not believe the spell to be worth the risk. It would raise too high of an alert if a Light witch was chosen. And what if a Mudblood was chosen? It would have all been for not. That being said, I do not believe your most perfect mate would be a non-pure Light witch.”

“My thoughts exactly, Lucius.”

Dolohov and Rosier shift uneasily. Severus quirks an eyebrow. “My Lord, the gender of the heir would not be guaranteed. Even with the most advanced medical spellwork in Saint Mungo’s that would not be possible.”

Voldemort agrees. “Another risk, Severus.”

Crabbe, Narcissa thinks, has never been the brightest. He has brute force, and so Voldemort sends him on the most high profile of missions. He stands and scratches his head now, obviously confused.

“Also, my Lord… there is something I must inform you of. I would much rather do so in private, however.” Severus says.

Narcissa knows that she will most certainly be dismissed now. She can feel the words that will set her free right there in the open air.

It’s an incredible shock when instead, Voldemort says, “Malfoys, Bellatrix. You stay. The rest of you, go wait with the others. None of what we’ve spoken of is to leave this room.”

The Death Eaters give her looks of envy and contempt, but obediently shuffle out of the room and into the hallway.

A cold sweat breaks out between her shoulder blades.

“My Lord. A prophecy has been made. A prophecy concerning you, and a child not yet born.”

Voldemort is silent for several long moments. “Continue.”

“I overheard a Seer in a meeting with Dumbledore. She made the prophecy in the middle of the meeting.”

“Out with it, Severus. What were the contents of this prophecy?”

Narcissa watches, more than a little interested. Her own Sight had been squashed by her mother. It had been miniscule to begin with.

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”_

Narcissa’s breath catches. No one in the room speaks or breathes. This is more than a pregnant pause. It’s the instant of silence between life and death.

“That is all?” Voldemort finally asks.

Severus hesitates. The hesitation is barely noticeable. It would not be noticeable at all to someone that does not know him as intimately as Narcissa. Then he murmurs, “Yes, My Lord.”

Everyone is always murmuring around the Dark Lord.

“Thank you, Severus. Your information is always most useful.”

Voldemort sinks back into his chair. He is slumping. He slumps almost in the same way Bellatrix does, with an air of nonchalant power. It unnerves Narcissa. His finger is against his lips and he remains unblinking. She has never seen anyone so deep in thought.

She doesn’t know how long it takes him to resurface from his own mind, but it is quite a while. She’s glad he didn’t ask her to stand.

After an eternity of terrifying contemplation, the Dark Lord stands once more. His back is straight and she knows he has solidified the decision he made before consulting any of them.

“I will perform the spell tonight.”

Narcissa’s heart sinks deep inside of her chest. She never believed in the gods the Neo-Druids of her youth mentioned from time to time (and worshipped with free love and flowers in their hair right along with filthy Muggles), but now she sends up a plea to any of them willing to listen. She would not wish this curse on any woman.

She is terrified of a child not yet born. What kind of mutant will the Dark Lord create? In her mind, Narcissa remembers Muggle pictures in black and white, moving as Wizard photographs did, on a large screen. Andromeda had always been fond of Muggle cinemas. She used to sneak Narcissa out with her when she was very young; she had nightmares of a beast called an _alien_ eating its way out of a woman’s torso for months, but to run to the comfort of her mother’s arms meant to betray Andromeda, and she would never have done that.

Surely a Muggle alien would be a blessing compared to the Dark Lord’s child.

Narcissa takes a steady breath to quell the rising hysterical laughter in her throat.

She watches with a sharp, observant gaze as the Dark Lord pulls a very old piece of parchment from his robes. She cannot read the writing on it; it looks Welsh.

She can tell from the glimpse Severus got of it that he can read it, however. His face is ashen. She dares to raise an eyebrow at him in curiosity.

The brief flicker of his black eyes towards her speaks volumes: _Not now._

Voldemort raises his wand, and instantly the Death Eaters assembled fall to their knees around him. Narcissa, for the first time, wishes she were standing so she could do the same. She has been present when the Dark Lord casts. His power when performing complicated spells induces such a wave of vertigo that it sends anyone in a ten foot radius sprawling to the floor. Instead, she merely bows her head demurely.

The evil bastard has just raised his wand when a pure white dove appears quite literally out of thin air.

Voldemort does not jump at the unexpected sight as Narcissa does, nor does he flinch when the bird’s feathers brush against him as the rest of the Death Eaters do. Instead, he calmly reaches up and plucks a thin envelope from the beak of the bird.

When he goes to curse it on a whim, the bird disappears again. Narcissa flinches, sure his anger will rise, but it does not. Instead, he arches one thin eyebrow, and opens the letter.

Narcissa sees the words _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ written in very old script on the front, but it is gone in a blaze of fire as soon as she does. Voldemort drops the ashes to the ground, still reading.

Narcissa keeps her head bowed the entire ten minutes that Voldemort is scanning the letter.

Truly, it was not that big of an envelope. She wishes to send flowers to whoever stunned him enough to make him reread something so short, and also stalled the damnation of an innocent woman.

Then the Dark Lord starts to laugh, and Narcissa wishes she had taken the potions he sent, because the sound makes her stomach turn. Bile rises in the back of her throat and stings the end of her tongue, but she swallows hard and ignores the feeling.

“This is excellent! Truly excellent! The spell is no longer even required.”

Bellatrix is the only one brave enough- or insane enough- to say anything. Her words drip acid and a promise of torture. “A volunteer from among your ranks, my Lord?”

The Dark Lord is so positively _giddy_ that he doesn’t even punish Bellatrix for her insolence. “No, no, Bella. Not quite. It seems my so called _perfect mate_ has sought me.”

Bellatrix shrieks in wordless rage, and then yelps when Voldemort sends a flashy curse her way. Afterwards, she seethes in silence.

Narcissa sits and waits.

Finally, after several minutes of contemplation, Voldemort looks at her husband kneeling on the floor. Voldemort is all business once more, giddiness locked away. But there is no denying he is immensely pleased about something. She watches as Severus’s shoulders tense slightly and unadulterated terror sets in, licking its way down her spine and through her mind.

“Rise, Lucius.”

To her husband’s credit, he is not shaking when he does so. Her fingers tremble, but nothing else. She wants to be brave like Lucius. She always has. (Secretly, in the very depths of her subconscious where she composes letters to Andromeda and spots purchases she is too cowardly to make for her niece, where she is still kind and unassuming and unselfish, she likes to think her husband would have made an admirable Gryffindor, were he not so power-hungry.)

“My Lord?”

“You are quite certain that your wife will bear you a male child?”

Lucius blinks once. “Yes, my Lord. It is all but guaranteed. The Malfoys have borne male children for-”

“Lovely. You see, Lucius, I am quite invested in the welfare of your offspring.”

“I am most thankful my Lord, but why-”

“Because, Lucius. When considering my own progeny, I had a bit of an epiphany. I do not wish for any to have my name. I am the sole heir to the noble bloodline to which I belong. Therefore, my future _child,_ ” Voldemort hisses the word as though it is akin to _Mudblood_ , “must be a female. In that way, she may marry a pureblood and continue my line without the burden of a name.”

Narcissa’s blood freezes in her veins and there is an anguished scream stuck deep inside her chest.

“I have just been guaranteed that, among other things, my child shall be a female.”

Of course he had. The Dark Lord got anything he wanted, even the soul of her unborn child.

“I would like to arrange a betrothal with you, Lucius.”

Lucius dares to allow his eyes to flicker towards her. Voldemort stares penetratingly at her husband, not sparing her even a glance.

No wonder he placed those protection spells on her. No wonder he took such an interest in her very recent announcement. She has carried her child inside of her barely a month, and he is already plotting its destruction.

He has taken what is hardly hers.

“You see, when I placed the protection spells on your lovely wife, I cast another. Just as a bit of a… trial. Regardless of the gender of my own child, I needed to make certain it would always have a _guardian_. A strong male betrothal if it were female, as I hoped, or a strong ally and General if it were male. I cast a spell to gauge the potential magical strength of the latest addition to the Malfoy lineage.”

The Dark Lord turns to her, and it takes every ounce of strength she has to lift her head and meet his eyes. Narcissa marvels at how she can hide the hate she feels.

“Lady Malfoy, you should be quite honored. Your child has the potential to have the strongest magical core I’ve observed in decades.”

Narcissa’s eyes widen, and she can take no more. She bows her head once more and her chest heaves on a sob. She only allows herself one, but in the eyes of the Dark Lord, she is broken.

He smiles.

She always knew her child was meant for greatness. But not like this. Never like this.

How many lives will the life growing inside of her take in the name of the beast in front of her?

“Look at her,” The Dark Lord orders, and obediently every eye in the room turns on her. “She is speechless,” Voldemort mocks.

Severus’s mind reaches out to hers, reassuring her. He shows her images of students in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, of students laughing between classes, of playgrounds and pet stores and small training brooms in Diagon Alley. He tries in his own way to remind her that her child’s life isn’t over before it begins.

For the first time in her life, Narcissa does not believe Severus.

“You are dismissed, Narcissa,” the Dark Lord snaps. She jumps once more in her chair, and then stands. She bows stiffly, and scurries for the door. Narcissa is not brave. Not like Lucius. Not like Andromeda. Not like Gryffindors. Certainly not enough to save her child. Narcissa is merely pathetic and devastated and more afraid than she has ever been in her entire life.

The beady eyes of Dolohov, Crouch Jr., and Pettigrew follow her flight up the stairs of her Manor. She rounds a corner and falls to her knees in the dark shadows of her home.

Then she weeps for the lives she cannot save.

* * *

The woman waits in the shadows created by the rocks.

She has been waiting for this day for a year. She knew what he would seek even before he himself did, and now she will give it to him.

Their world is going to change, and very soon. He will have his dynasty. His progeny will touch and inspire every corner of the globe. Dark or Light. For better, or for worse. She has Seen it, and so shall it be.

He is precisely three minutes late, but she knew he would be.

His almost non-existent eyebrows raise at the sight of her standing there in shadows, but not bothering to hide herself from him. Perhaps she is more beautiful than he was expecting. She smiles a bit at the thought.

“Tom.”

He scowls at the sound of his given name, but makes no move to harm her. “What is your name?”

She smirks at him, and it clearly disturbs him. She doubts anyone has looked at him in this way, as an equal, in a very long time. If ever. “That’s not important. Call me Her. Or She, depending on the grammatical necessities.”

His eyes flicker with curiosity once more, but he lets it go. “And you are going to give me what I came for? What we agreed upon?”

“Perhaps,” she muses, and his eyes glint with anger. Oh, his eyes. They are very expressive. Much more so than she thought they would be. “If you agree to a few conditions.”

She watches his frustration mount inside of him. He is very impatient and petulant. She will have to guard against that in their offspring.

“What conditions, witch? You already guaranteed the gender-”

“I must cast several charms before we conceive the girl. You mustn’t interfere in any way. I also get to keep her for the first year after her birth. You will receive her on the following Samhain. You may name her anything you like, so long as the name _Morgane_ is included. It is my bloodline’s tradition. Afterwards, you will never attempt to find me, contact me, or otherwise associate yourself with me in any way unless it is for the sole benefit of our child, and is not for any of your own personal gain.”

She can tell by the dubious expression on his face that he has not thought of the Old Ways in a very long time, and puts little stock in them. So much the better; perhaps she might be able to sway events in her own way after all. It takes him a moment to calculate the date.

“And if I disagree? If I demand access to my child before the year is up? You agreed in the letter that she was entirely mine, to do with as I pleased-”

“Tell me, oh fearsome Dark Lord, do you have the means or the desire to care for a helpless, pitiful infant?” Her words are sharp, biting, and mocking. If she were anyone else, he would have cast her to the ground, writhing in pain at the very least for her tongue. For some reason, he restrains himself.

It is not as though she didn’t master defenses against such petty curses as the Cruciatus a long time ago, anyway.

Then Tom Riddle’s anger starts to melt away, and he laughs in a giddy, high way. 

“Do we have an agreement?”

“But of course.” He chuckles, and gestures for her to step forward and perform any spells she may need to.

He is surprised when she does not pull out a flimsy wand, but instead begins instantly casting, using only her hands to perform the complicated spells. She simply holds her palms out in front of her, towards the sky; the magic in the air on this island is so thick it takes almost no effort on her part to perform spells many millennia old.

The lust and the hunger for power grows in his eyes with each spell she casts. As disturbing as his physical body might be, she cannot help but feel a small thrill at this man in front of her.

At least he never performed the soul mate spell. She would never have been able to break away from him then. She would have hated having unwavering devotion for a man she considers a coward.

When the spells are finally over, a glowing ball of pure magical energy erupts in the middle of the island. The waves against the shore rock higher than ever, the wind picks up speed, cracks appear in the earth where it had been strong and smooth before, and the lush greenery bursts into flames.

Tom studies the large mass of magic, trying to discern its ever changing colors and textures. She knows even he is amazed at such raw, primal, and incredible power.   
“What is this?”

“Magic, in its purest form. The island we have met on is in the middle of the Atlantic; it is where the four major ley lines meet. Quite the perfect place to conceive a child meant to bring the world to its knees with power, yes?” What she does not mention is that these are no normal ley lines, but the ley lines of all the world’s elements. The man in front of her has no idea what kind of power he is about to become partly responsible for bringing into this world; he only knows that it is immense, and that he wants it. The thought amuses her.

Their eyes meet, and in his she sees only death. She sees the path she could have chosen, at that crossroads long ago.

She lifts her chin, and then he is on her.

* * *

  ** _1981_**

 

Lord Voldemort has almost forgotten his child.

Almost, but not quite. He had been notified of the day of her birth, and on that day had named a loyal Death Eater her official caretaker. He has not thought of her since.

It has been quite the busy time for him. He has had much killing to do, much torturing to commit, much power to gain. He basks in the fear of an entire nation, and wonders idly what he will do when he takes over the rest of Europe. Move on to Asia, perhaps?

Of course, all of that must come after tonight.

“Thank you for your services, Wormtail,” he whispers. He doesn’t feel the need to speak any louder. Quiet can be a very nice weapon, when used appropriately.

_Wormtail_ shivers on the floor at his feet. The name has always amused him. It is entirely fitting, and it is even better that it constantly reminds the rat of the friends he betrayed so easily.

Voldemort holds no respect for those unwilling to die at his hand.

“Tonight, my brothers and sisters, marks a new era.” He hisses at his followers, and like a well-oiled machine, their answering hisses rise in the air.

His eyes meet those of Bellatrix, and she simpers under his gaze. He feels a flicker of irritation, and a bit of lust that quickly fades.

“Tonight, I destroy those that have so often defied me. Tonight, I destroy another enemy that will die under my wand as so many foolish others.”

It has been too long since Voldemort has personally killed anyone instead of sending a team of his Death Eaters to a raid- almost a week. His blood is boiling in his veins, and his soul aches deliciously at the prospect of tearing itself open once more and letting the darkness in.

Voldemort watches the quiet anguish of Severus Snape. Usually his servant would be standing most loyally by his side. Instead, he has chosen to stand in the far corner of the room tonight.

Humor and vindictive cruelty battle inside of him. “Tonight, I may even bring back one of my most faithful a new pet.”

Severus does not flinch, but he doesn’t have to. Satisfaction washes through Voldemort. He twirls his wand carelessly against his fingers, relishing in the smooth wood that will end someone’s existence very soon.

_Glorious. Everything is glorious._

He hopes there will be blood this time.

And if it happens to be the filthy blood of the woman his servant so desires, all the better.

“When I return, we shall have the largest Revel yet!”

All of his Death Eaters cheer, and then he is gone, swooping out the door and into the night.

Godric’s Hollow is little more than a ghost town at this time of the evening. He leaves its outskirts, his footsteps making no noise. There is an energy in the air tonight that is irresistible. His eyes narrow at the sight of the modest home Wormtail had informed him of.

There is surprisingly a light still glowing in one of the windows. He can see movement behind it, outlined by faint silhouettes. How beautiful it will be when those warm bodies are finally cold on the floor in front of him.

They have it coming.

He is about to take another step when he hears a faint pop. Next to him is suddenly a woman, where there had not been a woman before.

He is surprised to notice she is wearing the same dress as the first night he saw her, the night he took her and owned her for a few hours. Her dark hair frames her dark eyes. Everything about her is dark except for her skin. It practically glows in this moonlight. Her body shows no sign of bearing his child.

He grits his teeth in irritation. “I am busy.”

“I have a delivery for you. This one I could not send by dove.”

And she holds out to him a tiny girl. She has hair a few shades darker than his own, and a few shades lighter than Hers. That is practically all he can see of her, she is wrapped up so tightly. The fabric is smooth and unlike anything he has ever seen before.

It takes him an entire minute to work out that the disgusting _babe_ she is presenting him with is his own. His desired heir. Today is Samhain by the Old calendar. He had _almost_ forgotten.

“Take her to a man named Severus Snape. He is her caretaker in the event that I am unavailable. Which I clearly _am_.” He gestures towards the house. He does not want the light to flicker off before he barges in. He craves a fight, however puny it may be. Sleeping targets don’t often scream.

She raises an eyebrow. “House call?”

He merely sneers at Her, his eyes darting down to his daughter, and then back to Her.

“I refuse to hand her to anyone but you. We had an agreement. Besides,” She snorts, looking detachedly at the house, “if it’s a simple house call, it shouldn’t be much of a burden.”

When he opens his mouth to agitatedly protest once more, She glares at him. “If you do not take her now, I will take her. For good. You will never see her again.”

Awkwardly, Voldemort snatches the child from Her hands. He uncomfortably tucks her into the crook of his left arm. He needs his right free to use his wand. His enemies must be destroyed tonight, regardless of this inconvenience.

“What are you naming her?”

Ah, yes. The name. He had given it much consideration after their coupling, and had chosen it almost a year ago. “Aveline Atropos Morgane Enigme.”

With one last lingering look at their daughter, She vanishes.

He snarls at the space She once inhabited and grasps his daughter more securely. The girl does not stir in his arms.

He storms up the pathway and in his vast irritation, blows the side door and half of the wall to pieces. He pays no mind as it showers down around him. He drinks in the sound of a woman screaming inside.

“Lily, take Harry and-”

“No, James, I-”

“Go! Go! I love you, Lily, you and Harry, now _go_ -”

He faintly hears feet pounding frantically up stairs. He enters the house and dodges a nasty jinx sent his way from around the corner. He feels nothing but disgust for these people. They could have joined his ranks. They could have been mighty, and instead chose to live in filth. They will pay, as all who defy him do.

Only three more curses are sent his way. He chases the dark-haired man up the stairs. He catches him on the landing. He watches as the light fades from his eyes and he slumps to the ground.

_Avada Kedavra_ has always been incredibly effective.

He wishes to play more with his next victim. He wants to hear her scream some. If she agrees to come with him and join his ranks, he will only torture her a bit before handing her over to Severus. Absently, he checks on the child on his arm. She is still sleeping. He does not think to question this.

He glides up the rest of the stairs. He can afford to waste seconds now. The woman and her disgusting child are not going anywhere.

He comes upon the room, and takes in the scene; she is on her knees, her red hair hopelessly tangled in shrapnel from the wall. Her son is in a crib in front of her.

“Mummy loves you. Daddy loves you. Be brave, Harry-”

“How charming,” Voldemort mocks. His voice is higher than normal at the veiled insult. Killing makes him more excited than anything else in the world. He still craves the sight of blood. He wonders if hers is redder than her hair.

She whirls around, on her feet in seconds. “No, please, not Harry, not him-”

“I am going to kill your son.”

She turns even paler at the revelation. Her breaths begin to shorten with her sobs. It is a pity, Voldemort thinks, that her last breaths are so short. None of his victims ever think to lengthen their last ones and enjoy them. Stupid filth.

“No. No. Please, not Harry. Please! I’ll do anything! Not Harry, not my baby boy, no.”

“I will let you go. Step aside, foolish girl, and you may live.”

She does not hesitate. Her word is no longer a plea, but a suicide note with steely resolve. Her emerald eyes burn, and he can see why Severus is so enchanted by her. She would make a tantalizing little slave. “ _No_.”

After a flash of blazing green light, Lily Potter is dead on the floor. He is disappointed by the lack of blood, but she did let out a satisfying, shrill wail.

Young Harry Potter gurgles in his crib. Voldemort’s own daughter is still blissfully sleeping. He grins as he peers over the wooden railings.

He sees the same green eyes that he just eternally shut. How striking, to get to close the same pair of eyes twice.

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_

Voldemort’s world explodes, and all he knows is pain more brutal than any he has ever inflicted, pain more agonizing than any he has ever personally experienced

And then he is nothing.

In the smoldering remains of the house, Harry Potter begins to howl. Flung thirteen feet away from him, Aveline slowly opens her eyes and silently begins to cry.

* * *

That same moment, great distances away, Draco Malfoy jerks from his sleep very abruptly and begins screaming at the top of his lungs.

Narcissa sits up in bed instantly. Cold terror fills her very being. No child should ever scream that way; he sounds as though he’s being murdered where he lies. Lucius sits up in their bed next to her, but she is already tugging on a robe and sprinting down the hall.

There are three house elves already in the nursery, trying desperately to hush her son. He refuses. His little face is red and he gasps on great sobs. She grabs her son from the terrified elves, checking his entire body for some sort of injury or ailment. Draco is a beautiful child in both appearances and temperament; he had rarely fussed at night even as a newborn. Screams like this are entirely unexpected.

She can find nothing wrong with him.

Lucius is by her side immediately. “What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know!” Narcissa’s voice is almost a screech. “Nothing, from what I can tell!”

“Perhaps it was a nightmare. Do babies get nightmares?” There is a hint of panic in Lucius’s voice.

Narcissa wracks her brain and comes up blank. “I don’t know _that,_ either!”

“Mistress, if Nanny may interrupt, Mistress, Nanny knows how to calm Baby Master Draco, Mistress.” A small, old elf tugs on the hem of Narcissa’s robe calmly. Nanny has been passed around almost all of the Pureblood families for years, bought and sold interchangeably when one bloodline has a new member. She has been invaluable to Narcissa. She’s thinking about keeping the old elf for good, other families be damned.

“Yes, yes, what is it, Nanny?”

“Nanny can make Baby Master Draco a Sleeping Drought, Mistress. Nanny knows how to mix it with milk. It will not harm Baby Master Draco. He will sleep as he always does, Mistress. Night terrors are not so uncommon in babies, Mistress.”

Narcissa relaxes, and begins cooing to her son, rocking him steadily back and forth in her arms. He is over a year old, and she still feels as though she delivered him yesterday. Lucius is even worse; he is incredibly protective of their child. Taking his cue from Narcissa, he nods to Nanny.

“Yes, Nanny, do so. Quickly.”

“Yes, Master Malfoy. Nanny be quick. One moment, Master Malfoy.” And Nanny disappears with a small pop.

It doesn’t take long after Nanny’s return for Draco to fall back into an uneasy sleep. Lucius kisses his son’s forehead and meanders down to his study for a strong brandy. Narcissa resolves to go to the kitchens and mix more milk and Sleeping Droughts herself in case Draco wakes once more.

She is passing one of the drawing rooms when she senses the Manor wards tingle. Someone is at her home in the middle of the night. She wraps her robe tighter around her and scurries to the front door. She yanks it open, and Severus stumbles into her arms.

He is freezing to the bone, and holds some sort of bundle haphazardly in his arms. He is shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and Narcissa instantly aches for him. She knows what this means.

Lily Potter was not spared.

Severus presses himself against her, buries his face into her neck. Together they awkwardly fall to a heap on the floor, and with a flick of her wrist she shuts the heavy front door.

Severus’s cries echo through the foyer, haunting and hallow. His entire body trembles.

“I’m so sorry,” Narcissa whispers.

He blubbers something incoherent, and she squeezes him tighter.

It is only after they have sat in the chilly foyer for several long minutes, grieving the loss of a Mudblood together, that she realizes the bundle he is holding is moving against her.

Narcissa does not shriek -she is far too full of decorum for that- but she does gasp when she draws back from Severus and sees a small baby girl tucked into a blanket and wrapped in his jacket.

“Severus Snape! What in Merlin’s name-”

“It is _his._ ” Severus snarls the word. “The heir of our esteemed Dark Lord.”

Shock settles into her stomach. She never expected a tiny beast to be so undeniably beautiful.

“May I?” she breathes before she is even aware of what she is doing.

Severus all but throws the child at her.

She carefully unfolds the strange blanket. The fabric is entirely unknown to her, but it is smoother and warmer than silk could ever be. Underneath is a child almost the same age as her Draco. She has dark hair, and a perfect little nose, and full lips.

Narcissa does not understand how she can feel so much affection for a child that will undoubtedly murder hundreds.

“Where is Voldemort?” she asks. How did Severus end up with the child?

“He’s gone.”

It takes Narcissa several moments. “Gone where?”

She strokes the child’s cheek and the girl curls into her hand and chest. Her heart melts a bit.

“No, Narcissa. I mean the Dark Lord, the most evil man of all time, is _gone._ ”

_Now_ Narcissa shrieks.

She summons Lucius, and he takes one look at the child that is most decidedly not theirs in her arms, and one look at Severus’s devastated face, and demands answers. They both listen as Severus tells them about how he received a letter from the baby girl’s mother, giving him her name and Voldemort’s location; how he rushed to the Potter home only to find it already destroyed, Aveline lying in the same tarnished room as Harry Potter; how he had held Lily’s body as long as he could, only leaving when he heard the great footsteps and sobs of Rubeus Hagrid, and how he had gathered up his charge and Apparated directly to the Manor.

Narcissa sits in stunned silence. She was never a fan of the Dark Lord, but Lucius had a bit of protection under his reign. Now, they will undoubtedly have to answer to the Ministry, and the Wizarding World at large. She thinks of Bellatrix, and how madly devastated she will be; undoubtedly she will cause mass amounts of death and destruction at the news. Then she thinks of Andromeda; can she associate with her freely once more? Can her Draco make play dates with Andromeda’s Nymphadora?

The baby in her arms curls her fingers around one of Narcissa’s, rubbing the large diamond of her engagement ring. She smiles a bit at the child.

She thinks of her cousin, Sirius Black. He was raised, for all intents and purposes, to become the head of the Black House, and to turn as Dark as his name implied. But he had been sorted into Gryffindor of all Houses, and had become best friends with… with…

Well. No use crying over spilt blood. Not now. Not when it’s all over.

Narcissa smiles wider at the little girl in her arms. She truly is quite beautiful, and even with the Dark Lord gone, she knows her husband holds no desire for another child. And perhaps, even with her heritage, the child will be something entirely different. Perhaps tiny Aveline will be a Sirius instead of a Bellatrix. It would certainly give Narcissa an excuse to buy the incredibly fashionable child-size dresses she admires from time to time in Diagon Alley.

She looks up to find Severus staring blankly into the fireplace. His entire will to live is gone. She can see it in his eyes; there is nothing there any longer. If he doesn’t find some sort of motivation, she knows he will wither away to nothing.

Severus has been her best friend since the day she was married to Lucius. He was the only one that saw her as an individual instead of the wife of a Death Eater. She knows more about him than anyone else does, and he understands her.

She refuses to lose him to the haunting memory of a bloody Gryffindor.

“Severus,” she says quietly. His head snaps up, the flames creating deep shadows on his face. He almost looks like a corpse himself, so deep is his grief. “Severus, dear, what do you plan to do with the girl?”

Severus blinks slowly several times. Lucius watches curiously; he does not know Severus as well as Narcissa does. He does not know the depth of his love for a dead woman.

Slowly, Severus’s gaze turns contemplative. He was always an intelligent man; perhaps his intelligence will become his salvation now that his heart has been shattered.

“I am going to… to visit someone.”

Narcissa knows he means Dumbledore. He had confided in her and only she, what his promise to Dumbledore had been in exchange for his help in hiding the Potters. She had intended to join him in his secret rebellion against the Dark Lord, and when the time was right, she had intended to inform her son of her traitorousness, and allow him to choose his own path. She could never escape the Dark, but she could try her best to kill it from the inside as a spy with Severus. She had hoped her son would choose to do the same when the time came.

Voldemort had made many, many mistakes when he decided to hunt down Lily Potter.

Narcissa and her husband share a worried glance as Snape slams the front door behind him. Then Lucius bends and kisses her on the forehead.

“Sometime tomorrow, I shall turn myself in to the Ministry,” Lucius says to her quite calmly. He smirks at her, the same smirk that had disarmed her entirely when they had been courting, and then trudges sleepily up the stairs and back to their room.

Narcissa glances down at the sleeping child in her arms.

She doesn’t look like Tom Riddle at all.

Narcissa Apparates the both of them upstairs, into Draco’s nursery. She conjures an identical crib for Aveline, and places her gently inside. Nanny is snoozing lightly in a chair next to Draco. She can handle whatever arises before morning.

Narcissa goes back to sleep next to her husband, and rests easily for the first time since the Dark Lord’s rise.

* * *

Sirius Black laughs manically as he is dragged away in chains in broad daylight.

* * *

Hagrid hands over a snoozing Harry to Dumbledore the night after the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named. He had quite a time, transporting him back to Hogwarts, where Poppy was waiting to heal him.

She had been able to do nothing for the lightning shaped cut.

Dumbledore decides it may make quite a handy scar.

* * *

Severus stares down at the daughter of the man who had murdered the only woman he had ever loved.

Narcissa has somehow managed to overlook the girl’s heritage entirely, and spends as much time cooing softly to her as she does to her own son. The two babies get along quite well.

As it turns out, Aveline has hazel eyes. They are the only hint that she belongs to Tom Riddle, and are incredibly stunning; sometimes they appear almost golden. Other times, they are as dark as her soul probably is and as dark as her father’s eyes used to be. And still other times, when the light shines in just the right way, they seem to be a deep emerald green.

Severus has always had a weakness for green eyes; even sort-of-green hazel eyes. And now he has a plan.

According to Dumbledore, Voldemort will rise once more and return to claim the life that he failed to take- Harry Potter’s. He will also be expecting Severus to have taken care of his heir. When he does rise, Severus Snape will be ready. When he does rise, Voldemort will fall once more, for eternity.

And his own daughter will be his demise.

* * *

 

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do, however, own all original characters that may appear here.**

**Aveline: pronounced A (as in _apple_ )- vuh-leen. **

**Atropos: pronounced uh-troh-pus**

**Morgane: pronounced more-gain**

**Enigme: pronounced eh-neem**

**This fic will be updated every week at minimum. Thanks for reading, everyone!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

Severus Snape quickly learns that his plan to foil the Dark Lord by using Aveline against him is going to have to be put on the backburner.

Severus is a master of potions, Legilimency, and Occlumency. He likes to believe himself an unofficial master of many other things, such as the Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He knows next to nothing about parenting. All he knows is that his parents did a horrible job of it. Severus wishes to be nothing like his mother, or Tobias.

Narcissa helps him navigate the uncharted territory; Draco is a month older than Aveline, so she experiences infant milestones roughly four weeks before Severus himself does, and tells him what to expect.

Being able to delve into the tiny girl’s mind helps; he knows her most basic of cravings- the need to eat, the need to be rocked back and forth for hours on end (his existence is _most_ miserable), the need to be changed or the need to roll over.

Draco has been walking for two months and talking for much longer, and yet Aveline refuses to do anything but sit and stare at him with all too knowing eyes. The small flat he procured after taking the girl has been a train wreck for a week, because as stubborn as she is about walking, the little demon _can_ crawl. He is considering hiring a house elf. Or seven.

He hates children. He hates _living_.

He can’t wait to get to Hogwarts for his first term as a teacher. Narcissa has agreed to let Aveline stay with their family during the day, until he can Floo to the manor and pick her up at night. Keeping his nightly absences from Dumbledore is going to be exceedingly difficult.

Severus is already doubting the decision to keep the child’s existence, and his role in it, from Dumbledore. But if he were to tell the old man, then he would most definitely start reworking his Grand Design to include Aveline, and probably begin manipulating her to fit his mold right away. The Potter boy (Lily’s child Lily’s child _Lily’s_ child **_Lily’s child_** ) has already been shunned to the Muggle world because Dumbledore considered it the best for everyone. What would the old man deem fit for the daughter of the Darkest wizard known to mankind?

Feed her to the thestrals, most likely. Severus himself considered it the first time she burst into tears. Strangely, as long as that odd blanket she arrived with is wrapped around her, she sleeps peacefully through the night. He’ll have to try throwing the thing at her the next time she wails. She refuses to walk or talk, but the bloody babe can already stare at her own toy block construction and critically evaluate where best to place the next piece. Perhaps her motor skills have developed enough that she could catch.

His lips curl, and he only straightens them out when Draco totters over to him and places a fat white rose on his knee. Narcissa had insisted they take the children outdoors for some fresh air, and now he is sitting in the stifling summer heat, waiting for the woman to come to her senses and go back inside where there are Cooling charms in place.

He glances over at his charge, sitting happily on Draco’s pale blue blanket, surrounded by flowers. Draco has been picking them and placing them around Aveline all afternoon. Narcissa thinks it quite the delightful scene, and is debating Summoning a camera.

Severus barely resists the urge to bang his head against the expensive patio furniture. It’s bad enough that Narcissa has a new outfit waiting for Aveline every day. Now she wants to take up a new activity Andromeda wrote to her about called _scrap-booking._

For the love of Merlin.

“Thank you, young Master Draco.” Severus doesn’t bother to raise his voice, but he drawls out the title in a most obnoxious manner and waves the rose through the air. He watches with mild affection as Draco turns red from his stance over Aveline and giggles loudly.

He swears the girl _rolls her eyes_ at him.

He blinks once, and immediately delves into her mind. There it is, the sarcastic amusement clear as day in her head. What in the world-

“Hello, darling.” A snapping pop alerts Narcissa and Severus to Lucius’s arrival. He’s been working closely with the Ministry, securing ties after his very public trial. He bends and kisses Narcissa’s cheek, and Severus turns away.

“Severus,” Lucius greets jovially.

“Lucius,” Severus nods. “What has you in a positively _delightful_ mood?”

“Why must you always drip disdain, Severus?” Lucius asks with amusement. “And why in Merlin’s name are you wearing a black cloak in this heat?”

“That’s what I asked him,” Narcissa sniffs.

“I was hoping to protect myself from the chill once your wife regained her senses and allowed myself and Aveline _back inside the Manor._ ”

Lucius blinks once. “Are you calling my home drafty?”

Severus suppresses a snort. “You expect me to call the Manor drafty, when just a couple of weeks ago it was the stuffiest place in all of the United Kingdom?”

Draco’s second birthday party had been held at the Manor. It was the event of the season in child-terms; the society section of the Prophet was still going on about it. The Zabini boy had attended, along with the Crabbe and Goyle boys. Draco had taken an instant liking to Zabini. Aveline eyed the Parkinson girl with something like suspicion and had cried every time Draco left her side. To Severus’s immense surprise, Draco’s little brow had furrowed in a manner eerily similar to his father’s, and he had insisted everyone sit and play near Aveline instead of running wild.

Aveline refused to even look at the Greengrass girl.

The most prominent of adults had been invited- crooked politicians loyal to Lucius, Pureblood supremacists, business owners. Severus had sat in a corner and tried his hardest to look formidable in a silly party hat and with blue icing in his teeth.

Narcissa sits straight up in her lounge chair. “Severus! That reminds me! When is Aveline’s birthday?”

Severus thinks for a moment. Then he gives half a shrug. “Tomorrow.”

Narcissa shrieks and stands up. Lucius winces. “Tomorrow? _Tomorrow_ , Severus Snape?! Have you lost your _mind_? I thought we still had at least a week to prepare-”

“Narcissa-” Severus tries, and sighs when he is interrupted.

“And that poor little girl, basically an _orphan_ , with only the likes of you to take care of her on a regular basis, won’t even have a proper _birthday party._ You know as well as I do that we have to introduce her into society for her to have a secure station in the fu-”

“ _Narcissa_!” Severus barks. Lucius jumps, and Narcissa instantly falls quiet. Good. He’d been practicing that tone in the mirror before the start of term this September. He will not have any hooligans disrupting his peaceful dungeons. He will not have it.

“Narcissa,” he starts again, softer this time, “no one knows I am the caretaker of Aveline. They do not know who her father is, or the power she likely possesses. I assure you, her… _station_ … in life is quite secure. As for a party, I say absolutely not. It will do no one any good, and it is not as though that girl will care for the memories.”

Narcissa had been steadily deflating, her anger abating quite quickly. But Severus knows when Lucius makes a small noise in the back of his throat that he just said something very wrong.

“Not _care_ … not… Severus Tobias _Snape_! She is a little girl. A little _girl_ , Snape. She-I-I don’t even- I cannot _fathom_ -” Narcissa’s voice promptly reaches a pitch only werewolves can hear. People assume Narcissa Malfoy is a cool, calm, collected woman, and she is. Until children are involved. Then the claws and the spit appear.

In an instant, Narcissa has her wand out. This is not the first time Severus has watched her crack in anger and whip it out, but it is the first time it has been aimed at him. It is something she is notorious for; the way her anger will melt off her face and turn into an icy mask, the way the stinging jinx or hex will be cast out in the blink of an eye.

Severus has the time to sigh a bit. He doesn’t fancy a trip to St. Mungo’s today. Perhaps Lucius has something in his stores…

The flash and the bite of pain he is expecting never come. Instead, there is something akin to a terrified scream coming from the garden behind Narcissa, and instantly, a ripple of unadulterated magic flows from some strange source. It comes in waves and waves, and Narcissa is thrown ten feet through the air, into a hedge of thorns.

Somehow, clouds form in the sky where there had been none before, and energy crackles all around them.

Draco glances at his mother, then back at Aveline. His gaze rests on Severus for a moment, and then Lucius swears the child _smirks_ a bit.

He watches as Narcissa catches her breath, and Lucius bolts toward her, intent on helping her out of the bush. Lucius carefully detangles the thorns from his wife’s sundress. Somehow, none have managed to pierce her skin.

In the next instant, Aveline stands quite calmly and takes several deep breaths. She walks to Severus as though she is twelve instead of two. The lace dress Narcissa bought for her last week swirls around her little kneecaps.

Severus thinks absently that perhaps he should schedule her a haircut. Her deep brown locks have grown into long straight pieces that she keeps pushing out of her eyes.

Aveline totters all the way to his feet, and then she wraps both skinny arms around his leg. “ _My_ Sev-rust. _Mine_. _Good_ Sev-rust. _No ouchie_.” Her announcement is loud and met with astonishment by all except Draco.

Draco stares at her a moment, and then smiles crookedly. He holds out a pink peony for her inspection. She narrows her eyes, then nods. He places it in the growing pile on their blanket.

Severus cannot resist looking into her mind. What he finds astounds him. All throughout her mind are images of him; him holding her, him tucking her blanket around her at night, him sitting and staring broodingly out the window of their flat while it rains, him chuckling at something Narcissa had said.

There is blind trust there. Recognition. Pride. Protectiveness. More than that, there is infinite amounts of love.

_LOVE._

The creature that until now Severus has assumed to be nothing but a killing machine hell-bent on the destruction of the entire Wizarding World, biding its time until it is fully grown, is in fact human. Can in fact feel the emotion that crippled her father.

And she feels it for him.

Severus instantly drops to his knees. She is still staring up at him, her eyes glittering. And underneath her skin, faint black marks swirl. He watches with wide eyes as they slither under and around her eyes, her cheekbones. One begins on the pulse point of her throat, and spans downwards, over her shoulders and collarbones, the tops of her tiny arms, the insides of her wrists, her legs. They look just like Muggle tattoos, except they move and react to her moving.

“Severus?” Narcissa has scooped up Draco and is holding him tightly against her chest. Lucius stands in front of them. For the first time, they seem wary of Aveline. Of what she is.

But now Severus knows. There is not only a chance to save the Light. There is a chance to save _Aveline_.

No one has trusted him this purely since his childhood with Lily. He will not betray the girl. Not now.

“It is alright, Narcissa,” Severus says slowly, and scoops Aveline into his arms. She is pliant against him, and rests her head against his shoulder.

“Cissie ouchie?” Aveline asks with some concern. The sun is starting to peak through the random cover of clouds.

Narcissa smiles hesitantly. “No, I’m alright.”

Aveline regards her, and Severus keeps a careful watch on her mind. This time, images of Narcissa flit through her head; Narcissa patting her shoulder, Narcissa smothering not only Draco in kisses, but Aveline too; Narcissa putting dress after dress over Aveline’s head, pretty dresses that Aveline adores, and styling her long hair for hours on end. Narcissa charming the toys to move. Narcissa sitting Aveline and Draco down for lunch.

Intense affection accompanies these images. But there is no remorse for what Aveline did to the woman mere minutes ago. There is only an intense satisfaction that the power that had been sleeping in her soul has finally awakened. The marks on her do not appear to surprise her at all, though she does find them interesting.

“I will not lie and say that she is sorry for what she has done, or that she feels it was…undeserved,” Severus smirks at the Malfoys. Draco is squirming, his eyes on the black marks. “But she didn’t mean you any harm, Narcissa.”

Lucius raises his eyebrows. “You mean to say the girl had enough control over a bout of _accidental magic_ to make sure the thorns didn’t harm my wife?”

Severus shakes his head. “No. I mean that the magic was not harmful in its intent. The magic itself protected Narcissa from the thorns.”

Narcissa gasps and allows Draco to wiggle from her grasp. She covers her mouth in a dainty way, her bright blonde hair a tangled heap. “You mean she isn’t…?”

“She feels _love_ , Narcissa.”

Severus knows Lucius will not understand the significance of this. But Narcissa has always been Severus’s partner in crime. Her eyebrows raise to her hairline, and then her coolness is back.

“Well then. It is incredibly early, isn’t it, Lucius dear, for our little Aveline to be exhibiting signs of magic? And such a strong cast!”

Lucius frowns in confusion, then seems to shake it off. “It’s ludicrously early, my dear. Almost unnaturally. But it isn’t entirely unheard of. And considering the child’s lineage-”

“Yes of course.” Narcissa smiles tightly.

Draco tugs on Severus’s pant leg, and he places Aveline down beside him. She stands tall and strong, even while Draco wobbles.

At least his charge is competent.

Draco trails his small fingers across one of the marks on Aveline’s face. The girl doesn’t flinch or try to remove his hand. She almost seems to lean into his touch.

“Oo pretty.” Draco says, and grins. He has trouble saying the word _you_ , but he’s getting there.

Severus rolls his eyes, and Lucius smirks. “That’s right, my little ladies’ man.”

Narcissa clears her throat. “My son is nothing less than a _gentleman_ , Lucius Malfoy.”

“Right, dear.”

They watch as the clouds above them dissipate into nothingness. The sun shines with glaring heat once more, and the marks on Aveline’s skin fade mysteriously away.

Severus can’t help but notice the one on her right thigh takes the form of a snake.

* * *

Aveline has several more instances of accidental magic. Whenever she is upset, or angry, or in pain, the marks appear and her magical ability makes itself known.

It is not until both she and Draco turn three that Severus begins to notice the odder talents she possesses.

He walks into the dining room of the Manor on Christmas Eve, exhausted from his long day of dodging Dumbledore’s invitations for a late-night mead in his office and assisting Narcissa with last minute gift shopping. Aveline is supposed to be already fast asleep in her bed, but instead he finds her sitting with her back to him. She is so still he wonders for a split second if she is still breathing.

He instantly goes to dive into her mind, and finds it blocked. He has known grown wizards who have made Occlumency their life’s work that could not form blocks that strong. He panics, and darts to the other side of the long table.

In front of her is a small candle. Her long eyelashes are cast downward, and her shoulders hunch under the strain of the effort. She clutches the candle with both hands, and takes long, shallow breaths. Hot wax drips down her fingers and oozes down her palms. The girl doesn’t even flinch.

“Aveline?” Severus says quietly.

She doesn’t as much as blink.

“ _Aveline_.” Severus tries again.

Her response is to take a slightly deeper breath. In turn, the fire on the wick of the candle burns an inch higher.

Severus makes an uncharacteristic noise in the back of his throat. Aveline is practicing magic; old, _Elemental_ magic. None but the ancient Druids could do magic like this.

Now _this_ Severus wouldn’t mind having a camera for.

“Aveline,” Severus says very quietly. He places one hand in the middle of her back. At the contact, she startles and releases the candle. The dried wax tears itself in half as it drops to the ground, the flame instantly extinguished.

Her wide eyes look up at him, shimmering gold in the dim light. It takes her a moment to recognize her surroundings, and then she frowns at him. “That was rude.”

He snorts and picks her up. “What was rude was getting out of your bed after Narcissa put you into it. Father Christmas probably walked right through this dining room and saw you.”

“If he did, I didn’t see him,” Aveline shrugs carelessly. She nestles into the crook of his neck, her eyelids fluttering closed.

She is asleep by the time Severus wipes her fingers clean of the wax and tucks her back between the sheets.

The next morning, Draco’s favorite present is the small broomstick Lucius bought without Narcissa’s knowledge. (“Three is a _perfectly acceptable_ age to begin flying, Narcissa! He could have been riding a broom before he walked if _you’d_ have _allowed_ it.”) Aveline’s is a stuffed unicorn that prances around her in circles when she smiles.

Severus’s is the cup of coffee mixed with firewhiskey that Lucius hands him. Why children wake at such an ungodly hour on Christmas Day he will never understand.

* * *

Severus is trying to decide between witch hazel and gillyweed when Aveline bumps into the man further down the aisle.

He decided to try this new apothecary today; Narcissa recommended it, and so far he has been very pleased. Everything is organized, well labeled, and fairly priced. The aisles are wide, there isn’t too much light, and the store itself is large.

Narcissa left a six-year-old Draco with him for the hour so that she could run some errands. He doesn’t mind; Draco is a Malfoy, and therefore an exceptionally well-behaved child. Even when they are together, he and Aveline are both golden.

Aveline accidentally knocks against the man on the opposite side of the store, and the contents of his basket go spilling across the hardwood floor. One of the glass vials breaks, and Severus hears Aveline gasp.

“I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry, sir!” Aveline’s apology is barely a squeak. She is usually extraordinarily graceful and purposeful in her movements.

“Sorry?” The man barks the word at her, and Severus watches with growing trepidation as Aveline flinches. “You’re sorry? Where is your mother, girl?”

Severus slowly sets his gillyweed back on the shelf. He doesn’t want to alert the man to his presence, and so he takes his wand out of his pocket just as slowly.

Aveline opens her mouth, then closes it. Her tiny legs tremble. She is not used to being accused. She has never done anything wrong.

The man- Severus, for all his efforts, still cannot recognize the brute- snatches Aveline’s arm in his meaty hand. “I _asked you something_!”

Before Severus can cast any sort of spell, all of the potion ingredients on the shelves begin to shake. The shop owner looks up from his copy of the Prophet behind the counter, eyebrows raised. The ingredients keep shaking, and then one by one all of the vials begin to shatter with small _pops_.

Aveline smiles calmly, and that is what causes Severus to realize that she is not the one doing this. Aveline always frowns in irate concentration when she performs accidental magic.

He glances over, and Draco’s entire body is shaking. His face has gone blank, but menacingly so. He is almost sneering. The expression would be disconcerting on an adult, but on a child it is entirely so.

Draco grits his words through his teeth. “Let. Her. _Go_!”

And then all of the ingredients launch themselves at the man’s head. The blithering swine shrieks, and tries desperately to cover his head. He drops to his knees as the ingredients assault him.

The shop owner studies the scene for a moment, shrugs at Severus, and goes back to his paper. No wonder Narcissa is so fond of him.

Severus knows that allowing Draco to continue the assault for much longer will tire the boy, but it is ever so amusing.

After a moment, he tilts the corners of his mouth upwards. “That is quite enough, Draco.”

Instantly, the barrage of ingredients stops. The assaulted man peeks up at the children peering down at him. Draco very maturely sticks his tongue out at the man, and takes Aveline firmly by the hand.

The children walk calmly to where he is standing. They share an unfathomable look for an instant, and then Draco looks resolutely at Severus. “We want ice cream.”

Severus smirks. “Of course you do. One moment, if you please.”

He approaches the man, who is picking himself up off the floor and dusting the dirt off of his pants. The man tries desperately to appear unfazed and irritated, and fails miserably.

Severus considers threatening death, but while the shop owner is decidedly level-headed, he assumes the death threat would be less than tolerated. He himself holds sway only in the lowliest of society, and the highest. Here in middle-class Diagon Alley, he is virtually powerless.

Finally, Severus decides what to say. He looks the man directly in the eyes, and coolly murmurs, “I do hope you realize that you just managed to incur the wrath of the young Malfoy heir.”

Severus does not bother to wait around and see the man’s reaction. Instead, he sweeps his cloak behind him, and gathers both children close to his sides.

Narcissa is most distraught when she meets them at the ice cream parlor and discovers she _missed_ Draco’s first bout of accidental magic. She grabs Severus by the collar and demands he show her in the household Pensieve later.

* * *

Narcissa is making a pitcher of lemonade one afternoon for the children. She’d intended to squeeze the lemons herself, but eventually realized she hadn’t the slightest clue what she was doing; the house elves were more than helpful in that respect.

Severus snorts at her indignant huff when she spills yet another glob of water. Her hand trembles on the pitcher. She’s never had to hold one steady in all of her life, having been taught to Levitate china the old-fashioned way.

“Perhaps the elves should pour glasses for the children, Narcissa?” He suggests shrewdly.

She scowls at him in a most unladylike fashion, and he smirks.

He’s just glanced back down at his copy of the Prophet when he hears a gasp and he looks up just in time to see the pitcher of watery lemonade go flying out of Narcissa’s hand. It crashes to the ground in a fantastic display of shattered glass, and Narcissa yelps and instinctively pulls Draco back from the mess.

Narcissa begins to reach for Aveline, and then realizes the girl won’t budge.

“Aveline, darling, step back a moment! You don’t want to be cut, do you?”

Aveline doesn’t respond to Narcissa. Her hands are thrust out in front of her, as though to catch the fallen pitcher.

Severus watches her take a shallow breath, so still. He glances at the glass on the floor. There is only glass.

Hovering there in the air, over the mess on the floor, is a shaky glob of lemonade. He is the first to realize that while the pitcher fell, the liquid did not.

At seven years old, Aveline has already spent a year mastering fire. She almost has it conquered. She can ignite almost anything at will. This is not something that particularly surprised him, after he got over the initial shock of her Elemental power. The Dark Lord had always held an affinity for fire magic.

Severus had never thought that her Elemental powers might include the other elements. It is unheard of. No one can possess more than one.

Somehow, she does.

“Narcissa…” Severus says very quietly, and gestures to the floating lemonade. Narcissa’s eyes grow comically wide, and she shrieks. He can count on one hand the number of times she’s done that.

Draco steps boldly forward and passes his hand straight through the liquid. It comes out sopping wet, and Severus sees Aveline grit her teeth, but the ball of liquid holds its form.

“Wicked, Aveline. Wicked,” Draco declares with a grin.

A stunned house elf whisks the broken glass away, and produces another pitcher. With a relieved breath, Aveline releases the lemonade into the new container. Not a drop spills over the sides.

* * *

“Severus,” Aveline says quietly one day.

They are at their flat in London. He has returned home for the weekend from Hogwarts, and has decided to give Narcissa a much needed break. Draco is staying on the couch until Monday morning.

Severus looks up from grading papers. In her hands, Aveline holds a copy of a book. It is a book he had hoped she wouldn’t get her hands on, but Aveline has a way of getting whatever she wants one way or another. She especially loves books.

He sighs, and motions for her to sit down at the table. It’s not a very large one, with only two chairs, and the close proximity to her makes him nervous. She’s no longer an infant. Her vocabulary is crisp and expansive. Looking into her hazel eyes is almost enchanting. She truly is a stunning little girl.

A perfectly normal, if exceedingly above average, beautiful girl. He shall have his hands full when she reaches her third or fourth year at Hogwarts.

The thought pains him in strange ways.

“Yes, Aveline?”

She blinks and takes a deep breath. She does this frequently, to steady herself. She glances at Draco, taking an afternoon nap on the balcony. He does this because he likes to pretend he is flying. The afternoon sunlight turns his hair a flaming white-gold. Aveline runs her eyes over his sleeping form, then turns back to Severus.

“This book. This book about what happened to The Boy Who Lived. To Harry.”

“Yes?”

“It’s true. All of it’s true?”

Severus resists the urge to roll his eyes and wince at the same time. No one will ever understand that night. Ever. “A vast majority of it is actually speculation.”

Aveline does something that terrifies him in that moment. She reaches across the table and rolls the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow. Before he can utter a word, she strokes her fingers across his Dark Mark, tracing the harsh black lines. It writhes under her touch, the snake appearing to hiss.

In response, her marks begin to show. She has learned to control them more effectively now, but sometimes they slip. Severus still hasn’t deciphered half the runes on her body.

The snake on her thigh hisses in recognition, but makes no sound.

Severus jerks his arm back.

The snakes match. He never realized it before.

Apparently, Aveline has.

“Voldemort is my father.”

He cannot lie to her. “Yes.”

“The man who did the awful things in all of these books is my father.”

“Yes, Aveline.”

“He killed the Potters.”

Pain lances through him. All he can see is Lily’s dead body sprawled on the ground. “Yes.”

“He tried to kill Harry, and couldn’t. But he isn’t dead, is he?”

This time, Severus hesitates. “Well. No. He is not.”

Aveline sits very still for a moment. Next to her, the potted plant Hestia had sent home with him last week begins to wilt and bloom in perfect sequence.

Another element, then. Perfect. And only six months into her water training.

“My mother is gone.”

“I’ve never met her. I was told she surrendered you entirely to the Dark Lord.”

Aveline’s eyes flare in a way that should be unnatural for a seven year old. But so many things are beyond her that she can do without a problem. “She didn’t _surrender_ me, Severus. She _abandoned_ me.”

Severus says nothing. Who is he to tell her otherwise?

Aveline contemplates her existence for several long moments. Finally, she says, “What I can do isn’t normal, is it?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“And you know. About that night. About my father. Don’t you? You and the Malfoys.”

“Yes.”

“Does Draco know what my father was? Does he know what you and Lucius are?”

“No.” He contemplates asking her not to tell Draco. But he knows she will do what she deems correct.

She stands as though to leave, but she is still. Aveline is always still when she concentrates very hard. “Am I Dark, Severus?”

The afternoon sunlight slants through the balcony doors. The sounds from London filter in and invade the shabby living room and the minimalist kitchen. This conversation is entirely absurd in this setting. Severus senses that whatever he says next could determine the rest of everything. There aren’t many moments like that in an average man’s life, but he has found an abundance of them in his own.

“You are your choices, Aveline,” he says very quietly. He allows his words to sink in.

She bites her tongue. It is the most childish thing he has seen in her in months. Then she brushes her fingers over the cover of the book; over the illustrated image of Harry Potter.

“His hair should be longer and shaggier,” she says. Then she walks over to wake Draco; he agreed to help her with her elemental training this afternoon.

Merlin. Severus sincerely hopes she isn’t a Seer as well.

* * *

“Lucius,” Severus says when the bathtub in the apartment has overflowed for the umpteenth time and all of his neatly stacked papers go flying off the shelves from a conjured wind, “I need a residential building permit from the Ministry.”

Lucius smirks. “I’ll get you two, old friend.”

Narcissa smiles and reaches for her interior design catalogue.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy is beyond stunned when Severus requests to actually look at two properties rather than just one.

“What the devil do you want one way out here for? It’s halfway to Ottery Saint Catchpole for Merlin’s sake! It’s in the middle of absolutely nowhere!”

“Exactly. You really think I’d risk her being seen? She practices all four elements, Lucius, on a large scale! She raised a wave ten feet high when I took her to the coast last week.”

“Narcissa will go insane when she discovers you’re moving so far from society.”

“Narcissa will live. Our Floo will be connected directly to yours. As will our Apparition points.”

“Well. At least do me a favor and construct a Quidditch pitch on your grounds, yes? Narcissa won’t let me build one at my own bloody Manor, and yet she imports ruddy _peacocks._ ”

Severus suppresses his smirk, but only barely.

“What shall the second residence be used for?”

“It shall be considerably… nicer… than my own estate. It is for the Dark Lord, when he returns. And for Aveline.”

Lucius’s eyebrows shoot up. “I see. And do you plan to rear Aveline in her home, or yours?”

Severus Snape is no stupid man. He knows what Lucius is asking. Years of spying haven’t prepared him for this moment. Severus has never had to claim a side before. He has never had one to claim. Always, his side has been the side of the one he loves.

So he nods at Aveline, hugging Draco’s waist on a broom far above their heads. They zip through the air, laughing and whooping in a most obnoxious manner. She only laughs that way when with Draco.

“She shall choose.”

Severus wonders if Lucius realizes that his son and wife shall go where Aveline goes.

He watches the carefree girl illuminated in the sky by the sun, unaware that entire lives, hierarchies, armies, and futures depend entirely upon her. 

* * *

Narcissa is lounging by Severus Snape’s recently constructed pool at his recently constructed estate, Beathan, listening to her son laugh as he is splashed by Aveline’s elemental water magic, when a copy of the Prophet lands in her lap.

She yelps, and the sound is enough to halt all activity. Snape looks up from a book under a shady landscaping rock. Lucius stands up from his perch in the hot tub on the other side of the pool.

Aveline stares at her expectantly. She notices Draco take a step in front of her and towards his mother, his gray eyes stormy and observant for a newly turned eight year old. He’s growing up so fast. He’s holding a birthday party at his godfather’s new residence tomorrow.

Narcissa looks down at her lap, at the Prophet, and into the even stormier eyes of her dashingly handsome cousin, and wonders if perhaps she should put that party on hold.

“Darling?” Lucius calls regally, ready to take on the world for her.

“It’s Sirius.” She doesn’t speak loudly. She knows everyone can hear. “It’s my cousin, Sirius Black. He’s broken out of prison and has surfaced in high society London. He’s demanding an actual trial.”

Severus is by her side in an instant, skimming the article. There seems to be a sneer permanently engrained into his face.

Lucius appears in front of her. Severus stares at both of them for a moment, then glances at the children, standing quietly in the pool.

“That isn’t all Black is demanding,” he says.

“What else? His inheritance?” Lucius asks with some interest. Lucius always did enjoy a scandal.

“Well yes, that. But something else, also.”

This time it is Draco who speaks. “What else does he want?”

“His rightful custody of Harry Potter.”

Aveline and Draco share a look entirely missed by the dumbfounded adults. And they grin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**_SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES PRISON; DEMANDS A TRIAL._ **

**_BLACK REFUSES TO SURFACE AGAIN UNTIL TRIAL GRANTED._ **

 

The headlines all but scream from the front page of the Daily Prophet. Sirius had shown up at the most important party of the season- the Malfoys had missed it because of preparations for Draco’s eighth birthday- and jumped up on a table, announcing his escape and his demands, and then promptly summoned a flying motorcycle and crashed through an expensive plate-glass window.

Aveline can’t help but admire the man’s style.

Someone had managed to catch a picture of him. He is quite striking, dressed head to toe in daring black, his shirt half unbuttoned to reveal a score of prison tattoos and his curly hair a wild halo befitting of some dark and fallen angel from those Muggle myths. Seven years in prison hadn’t exactly made a dent in his extraordinary looks, but it is clear he is pale, underfed, and in a horrible state of mind.

Aveline wonders idly where he’s hiding. It must be somewhere very well protected, if the Ministry has no leads.

She hears Severus talk a lot of a man named Dumbledore; naturally, the first time she had heard the name, she’d done as much research on his existence as possible. His uses for dragon blood were really quite fascinating.

His uses for his so-called Order of the Phoenix, however, were much less popular. No one could even confirm the group had ever existed.

She bets that’s where Sirius is hiding. Somewhere with the Order members.

“Want to play Wizard Chess?” Draco asks hopefully.

She frowns a bit and splays her fingers. The wall of water in front of her splits into five columns, all strong and unwavering. She smiles. “Nah. I’m busy.”

Draco sighs. “Thinking about Sirius again?”

“Maybe.”

Draco flops dramatically back onto the ground in a most undignified manner. Aveline loves how undignified he is sometimes. She hopes he doesn’t grow up to be nearly as dignified as Lucius is.

“Aveline, obsessing over his godfather isn’t going to help Harry.”

“It might.”

“How?”

“It gives him hope. You know it does.”

Draco frowns. She knows he doesn’t like thinking about the connection. It makes him hope, too, and Draco hates to hope. He’s terrified of being let down. He’s so very practical sometimes it drives her insane.

“I just don’t think we’re ever going to get him out of there. If what Snape says about Dumbledore is true-”

“That he’s a meddling, conniving old man?”

“Precisely. If that’s true, he’s going to try everything in his power to keep Harry in that hellhole of a Muggle house.”

Aveline bites her lip against a grin. It always secretly thrills her when Draco curses. She never does anything naughty. Being naughty is a Dark thing to do. She’s not sure how she should feel about the thrill she gets when Draco does it.

He goes on, “And anyway, say Black gets his trial and _loses_ his case. Then what? Then we’ve given Harry _false_ hope.”

“We’re lucky to give Harry anything most days!” Aveline hisses, and lets the water splash back into the pool.

She has never met the boy, and yet she feels as connected to him as she does to Draco. They don’t even have true conversations. No words are ever involved, just images. It takes a lot of energy, however, and a lot of concentration.

It’s easier for her than for Draco, and some days he’s so bitter and forlorn about it, he barely speaks to _her_. Those are the worst days of her life, when Harry misses Draco too, and when Draco won’t talk to her.

Draco is quiet until the wind she creates dies down along with her irritation. Then he says, “You think Snape would take us to the village cinema today?”

Draco adores Muggle movies. He abhors everything else.

Aveline shrugs and smiles. “Maybe. I’ll go ask.”

She rips weeds out of the garden on her way to the back door in a last bout of frustration with a flick of her wrist, and feels Harry’s envy at her ability. His aunt has made him rip weeds out by hand again today.

 

* * *

 

  ** _SIRIUS BLACK BEGINS PUBLISHING MINISTRY SECRETS. IMPLIES HIS DEMANDS MUST BE MET BY JULY 1 ST._**

 

“What the bloody hell was he doing in Azkaban? Running a one-man espionage society?”

Severus chokes a bit on his orange juice, but Aveline has learned to associate the sound of choking with Severus after any mention of Sirius Black.

He really can’t stand him, apparently. Aveline finds it all rather amusing.

They’re all at the Manor, having quite the grand breakfast feast in celebration of her birthday. Luna Lovegood is present, along with Blaise Zabini and the boy named Goyle. Aveline enjoys the company of Zabini, and Luna is her best friend outside of Draco and Harry. But she truly can’t stand Goyle.

“I got you a present, Aveline,” Luna says, giant blue eyes wide and warm. Aveline loves Luna. There isn’t a Dark bone in her body, but Narcissa says the Lovegoods were neutral in the war.

At least Aveline isn’t defying her spectral father’s wishes; Luna’s blood is Pure.

“Really? Luna you didn’t have to-”

“Oh but I did! Daddy taught me about a new creature yesterday; they’re called Nargles. I think this will help keep them away. Daddy charmed them to never wilt.” And out from underneath her bright green robes, Luna produces a crown made of wildflowers.

It matches the one she wears on top of her own golden head.

Aveline’s eyes fill with inexplicable tears. She doesn’t bother to hide them, and Severus watches her curiously as she takes the flower crown and puts it gingerly on top of her head. It’s a perfect fit, and the brightly colored petals feel like silk against her forehead.

“It must be working already. One of the reactions to Nargles is over-productive tear glands.”

Aveline doesn’t think Luna, at age seven, even knows what glands are yet, and somehow the thought makes her cry more.

No one has ever given her anything meant to protect her before.

“Thank you so much, Luna,” Aveline whispers. She’s only known the girl a few months, but she’s already much attached to her.

Suddenly from the other side of the table, Goyle sneers. “You’re crying? You’re just like every other stupid girl.”

“Hey!” Aveline protests, irritation threatening to show her marks.

Several things after that happen at once. Blaise throws cake at Goyle for his remark. Draco, furious at Goyle, begins to shout at him. Goyle, in retaliation, dives over the table and yanks at Aveline’s long hair, wrapping thick strips of it around his meaty fist.

“See!” Goyle yells, “Watch, Draco, she’ll cry like a stupid little girl when I pull her hair! You should be hanging out with me and Blaise, not this stupid girl all the time!”

Aveline is beyond bewildered. Draco talked about Goyle sometimes, and so she had said he could invite him to her birthday breakfast. Goyle had been at Draco’s birthday parties every year, and while he was nothing to look at, he was always decently behaved.

If every child their age is on Goyle’s maturity level, she is very thankful to Severus for keeping her away from everyone but Draco, and more recently, Luna.

Goyle tugs on her hair hard enough to yank her to the ground, and he falls with her, taking plates full of food with him. She lands hard, and he jerks his arm out to catch his own fall, yanking her hair out in giant clumps. She cries out, unable to fight the tears.

She’s felt pain before, but never has it been inflicted upon her by someone else. It’s an entirely new, frightening, and _infuriating_ concept.

She can feel Harry’s anger, fear, and helplessness on the other end of their link, and she reaches with her emotions for him. She feels Draco reach for her in the same way she reached for Harry, even though he’s in the room with her. Suddenly, they’re connected better than they’ve ever been before.

Aveline watches as Harry’s anger is added to Draco’s. Draco’s eyes are so dark with fury, they look as though they could cut a diamond, and instantly he disentangles her hair from Goyle’s fist. He does so with a gentleness she’s never seen before, and simultaneously feels Harry’s relief when Draco places her hand in Blaise’s.

Blaise helps her to her feet, and instantly Draco is on Goyle. He begins to hit him anywhere he can reach- the face, the stomach, the legs- and his anger reaches the point that accidental sparks fizzle out of his fingers to sting Goyle.

“ _You. Will. Never. Touch. Her. Again.”_ Draco growls.

“Draco, stop it this instant!” Narcissa screeches. She is ignored entirely.

Lucius merely watches with one perfectly arched eyebrow, and meets Aveline’s eyes. She knows he is gauging her reaction, and she sniffs imperiously. Let the stupid Goyle boy learn a lesson from her Draco. Let him hurt. He hurt her, after all.

She doesn’t even care if it’s a Dark thing to allow.

It is only when Draco begins to sob and his breath heaves uncontrollably that Severus steps in.

“Draco, enough,” Severus says. He stands, his black clothes billowing out behind him. He looks almost as intimidating as Draco. But only almost.

When Draco refuses, sparks still flying, Severus sighs in a long-suffering fashion and casts a Shield Charm.

“I said, _enough_.”

Aveline watches in alarm as Draco howls in rage. He doesn’t even look like a little boy anymore. He looks like the dragon he’s named after. “NO. NO.”

“Draco…” Narcissa trails off, at a loss. Goyle’s nose is bleeding all over the dining room floor.

The bright red is such an intriguing color. Aveline stares at it, stunned. She’s never seen so much blood in one place before. The thought of all of that red liquid inside of her, inside of Draco, inside of everyone, just waiting to be spilled someday makes her stomach lurch, and her breathing grows shallow. That shade of red isn’t natural, and it calls forth a terror in her unlike anything she’s felt before.

Her father spilled so much blood. Blood that Draco has now spilled for her.

“Draco, stop!” she cries, so horrified at herself and him and the whole world that she can’t really comprehend anything at all.

He launches himself away from Severus’s shield and straight to her. He is several inches taller than her after his latest growth spurt, and she folds perfectly into his embrace. Her forehead rests against the hollow where his collar bones meet, a safe place meant for her.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice much steadier.

“I’m fine. It’s okay, Draco.”

“I thought he was really going to hurt you. I couldn’t stand it, Aveline, I just couldn’t.”

“I know. I would have gone just as crazy, I think.”

“…Did you feel how scared Harry was?” Draco’s voice is barely a whisper, but here in the comfort of his arms, it sounds infinitely vast and comforting.

“Of course.”

And actually, she can still feel Harry, pulsing deep inside her. There are three cords wrapped around each other inside her chest; one is her, one is Draco, and one is Harry. They all bleed into each other.

She knows there are three cords in each of her boys as well.

She’s going to have to do some reading.

Goyle begins to blubber, something about how Draco is going to pay for what he’s done. Draco snarls like a wild animal, and goes to spring on the other boy again, but Severus’s shield holds true. Draco bounces back several feet from the force of it, but the shield doesn’t stop him from trying.

“ _IF YOU EVER COME NEAR HER AGAIN I WILL RIP OUT YOUR EYES._ ”

Aveline thinks that’s a bit dramatic, but she can’t help but be pleased at Draco’s devotion.

Narcissa sighs and scoops a bit of cake with blue icing on it onto her fork and into her mouth. Then she Summons a brandy and blinks demurely at Lucius. “For the next hour, he’s your son.” 

 

* * *

**_SIRIUS BLACK GRANTED TRIAL BY MINISTRY ON THE CONDITION OF TURNING HIMSELF IN._ **

 

Aveline had snuck out of her bed, and was now sipping water out of thin air. It was a trick she’d learned ages ago, and it keeps Severus from having to continuously wash glasses. He hates washing glasses.

Aveline scans the Prophet article left on the table from earlier, then glances around her kitchen at Beathan.

Beathan, she thinks, must be the most beautiful home on the planet, and Severus had built it all for her.

The house is shaped like a square, with a courtyard in the middle. There are herb gardens there for the kitchens and for Severus’s potion lab, and a giant fire pit in the middle so that she can practice her fire element. Sometimes she can convince Severus to allow Luna and Draco over for bonfires, but she isn’t allowed to use elemental magic around Luna.

Hogwarts is going to be a very difficult place if she has to hide everything from everyone.

The windows in the house are large, and let lots of light in. It has the appearance of a quite large, yet humble, country home. The gardens in the back that surround the pool are hers to do with as she pleases.

She trails her fingers over the wood counters, the stone entranceway of the kitchen. Narcissa had done a fabulous job of decorating the inside of their house; the wood on the walls and floors was warm, the color schemes were light, plants were hanging from rafters and standing tall in corners, stone reinforced the larger rooms. Rustic chandeliers hung in the foyer and lounge rooms.

Draco had helped her string up enchanted Muggle lights around her bed. Luna had given her an old sofa from her attic, and a truly horrid vintage chair for her desk; the chair had a pattern of light green Snitches against a creamy background. Severus hated it, and so of course Aveline had loved it. Photographs, Muggle and Wizard alike, hung in crude frames she fashioned from Elemental wood magic herself on her walls. Luna had suggested peeling wallpaper, to keep some sort of creature- a brownie? - out of the walls, and Aveline had been so amused she’d agreed. Various plants and potion ingredients were stacked on shelves, and stacks of books littered the floor.

All in all, her existence was nothing like a young Pureblood Dark witch should consist of.

Luna had brought over candles for the table beside the pool out back. Lucius had installed multi-colored lights in the hot tub. Narcissa had made sure their furniture stayed up to date with the latest Transfigurations. Severus kept the house shady and cool. Draco persuaded Severus to add luxury items to the bathrooms, like a giant claw foot tub.

Every part of her life is continuously touched by people who love her.

She hopes it will continue that way even if she turns Dark. On nights like this, she doesn’t feel as though she has much of a choice.

 

* * *

**_SIRIUS BLACK TRIAL SCHEDULED FOR FIFTEENTH OF JULY._ **

* * *

**_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE MEDDLING IN SIRIUS BLACK TRIAL!_ **

* * *

**_MALFOYS TO VISIT RELATIVE SIRIUS BLACK IN AZKABAN PRISON!_ **

 

Aveline tries on six different dresses.

“I liked the green one.”

“I am _not_ wearing green to meet a Gryffindor. What am I, stupid?”

“Why are you so keyed up about this, anyway?”

“Oh, Merlin, I don’t know Draco! Maybe because I’ve been all but hidden away from all of society my entire existence. I can count on both hands the amount of times I’ve been to Diagon Alley, I’ve never held an actual conversation with anyone other than you, Luna Lovegood, or Blaise Zabini, and as many times as I’ve watched Narcissa do it, I still can’t braid my own hair, and my picture is going to be plastered everywhere by the end of the day! Not to mention Albus Dumbledore will learn about me, and-”

Aveline is about to say _and will probably realize immediately that I am the Dark Lord’s daughter_ but stops herself. That is the only thing on this earth that Draco doesn’t know about her.

Eight years of life with him, and he still doesn’t know who her real father is. He’s never even asked about her relation to Severus.

Behind the curtain in her room, she allows herself a tiny sob.

Today is the day her entire life changes, and she is not happy about it at all.

Of course, Harry feels her sorrow through their bond. He sends comforting vibes through their link, and she brushes her silent tears away. There are far more important things to worry about than sentimentality for a life that was never really hers.

She is the Dark Lord’s daughter. It’s high time she start acting like it.

She pastes on a smile and pulls the curtain back for a sixth time. “I think I should wear this one.”

“It’s _black_ ,” Draco wrinkles his aristocratic nose. “We’re already going to a bloody prison!”

It’s a fair point really, but Aveline is all out of dresses appropriate for the occasion. “Well! What else am I-”

She cuts herself off when there’s a knock on her doorframe. Her eyes dart over to meet Narcissa’s, and in her arms, bless her, is a brand new package from Madame Malkins. Aveline has never been more grateful to have a new dress in all her life.

“Oh thank Merlin, Narcissa!” she exclaims, and Narcissa smiles.

“I thought you could use something new for today. Draco, darling, your father is in the kitchen.”

Draco grumbles, but accepts his dismissal and starts off down the hallway. Narcissa shuts the door behind him and crosses the room to brush Aveline’s hair out of her eyes.

“Nervous, darling?”

“No. Well. Yes.”

“Don’t be. Your cover story is in place, and you know Lucius, Severus, and I will do anything in our power to protect you.” Narcissa bends down so that she is eye-level with Aveline. Her bright eyes glint with resolve and a cold haughtiness Aveline has never seen before. This, then, is the Narcissa the world sees. “And believe me, Aveline. Between the three of us, we have immense amounts of power.”

Aveline takes in Narcissa’s blonde hair, curled and coiled at the top of her head with precision, her long eyelashes, and her ostentatiously expensive gray dress. She is the closest thing to a mother Aveline has ever known.

“Can I see the dress, Narcissa?”

“Of course,” Narcissa nods, and unzips the dress bag with a flourish of her wand.

“It’s perfect,” Aveline breathes. The cloth is silver silk, and the design is very simple. There are no accents on this dress other than a wide black sash around the waist.

It slides over her skin like water, and when Aveline looks in the mirror after Narcissa braids her hair into an intricate circle atop her head, she barely recognizes herself. She is every bit as aristocratic and beautiful as Draco, but she’d never realized it.

She doesn’t cry. This Aveline has no use for such displays. This Aveline matches the Narcissa she had only met today; cold, arrogant, and proud.

She smirks at Narcissa in the mirror. “Thank you, Narcissa. I look lovely.”

Narcissa is ice as she moves, her pale pink lips seemingly made of frost when she presses them against Aveline’s ear. “Let’s introduce you to everyone, Aveline. Let’s go visit Sirius Black.”

Aveline has never heard such delicious words in her life. Suddenly, the warm and beautiful house she loves doesn’t seem nearly as fitting as the waiting cameras and granite Ministry floors.

* * *

**_HOGWARTS INSTRUCTOR SEVERUS SNAPE AND NIECE ACCOMPANY MALFOYS TO VISIT SIRIUS BLACK IN PRISON._ **

 

Severus Snape is not her uncle.

Severus Snape is nothing to her.

Draco senses the cold thing taking over her insides and frowns the whole way to Azkaban. Harry senses it from far away, and their combined worry is nothing but irritating.

The cold feeling grows and grows, misting around her heart and spreading towards her collar bones and the bottom of her ribs all through the Ministry. When they reach the Floo station that will take them to Azkaban, Aveline tells Severus she wishes to go on her own. Throwing the powder on the floor and watching it ignite fills her with a feeling a lot like triumph. She is a conqueror. The cameras love her. No one can figure out who she is. At eight years old, the entire Wizarding World has its eyes turned to her.

Who is this girl, and what is her connection to Severus Snape? To the notorious Death Eater Malfoys? To the possible murderer Sirius Black?

Aveline smiles as the green flames spirit her away. They’d never guess, not in a million years, who she _really_ is.

She is notorious. She is anonymous.

Azkaban is dark, and dank, and eerily how she pictured the place Muggles refer to as Hell. The dementors skirt the edges of the Patronus spell their guide casts. They are the most terrifying thing she’s ever seen in her life, and the cold inside of her shrinks a little to make way for fear. She shifts closer to Draco, and he doesn’t protest when she reaches for his hand. His fingers are warm. She always expects them to be cool.

“Why are we going this way?” Lucius barks when the guide leads them down the darkest, dirtiest hall yet. There are cells on either side, ones with thick bars and wards all around them. The dementors suck their fill from the prisoners inside.

Aveline no longer feels important. She doesn’t even feel like a human in this place. Poor Sirius. She can’t imagine spending seven minutes here, besides seven years.

“I apologize, sir. Mr. Black’s holding cell is on the hall off from this one.”

Severus places reassuring hands on both Draco and Aveline’s backs. But he can do nothing to mask the shrieks from the deranged woman in the cell they pass.

“ _IS THAT HER?!?!?! IS THAT THE LITTLE BITCH THAT BELONGS TO HIM? IS THAT THE GIRL? SEVERUS SNAPE IS THAT THE GIRL? CISSA? ANSWER ME. TELL ME IF THAT IS HER. TELL ME. TELL ME!!!”_

Aveline knows, deep within her, that this woman knows who she is. Her darkest secret is not safe here in the Darkest corner of the world.

She doesn’t belong here.

“Who was that?” Aveline whispers when they’ve passed.

“Your father’s most loyal servant, and Narcissa’s sister, Bellatrix Lestrange,” Severus whispers.

Aveline is quiet. Why would her father’s most loyal servant call her that foul name? How could Narcissa possibly be related to that crazy woman? She hadn’t gotten a good look through the bars, but Aveline knows the dark and bloodshot eyes will haunt her dreams night after night.

“We’re here,” the guard says after eons of walking through Azkaban. His keys jingle, and Aveline notices that this hall is much nicer than the others, with adequate lighting, clean floors, and a lack of dementors.

One of the doors opens inward, and Sirius Black is revealed. The room is sparse, with a fold-out bed against one wall, a table and chair, and nothing else. But it is an infinity better than any of those cells had been.

Sirius himself has a rubber ball that he tosses against the wall and then catches. Aveline wonders how long he’s been doing that.

He looks good. Very good. Well-fed, and in his own clothes. When he smiles at them, it is sardonically, but with mischievousness.

“Ah! Malfoy family, and Snivellus. To what do I owe the immense displeasure?”

It takes Aveline a moment to realize that Severus is the one called Snivellus. She isn’t sure if she should be offended or not on his behalf.

“Sirius. I see you’re in good health,” Narcissa says. This new voice matches her new eyes.

Draco doesn’t seem affected. He looks around in a nonchalant way, his hands shoved into his black pants.

“Yes actually. My lovely friends were kind enough to drop off necessities after I turned myself in. More than you’ve done, cousin.”

“I’m doing more than I should just by being here.”

“Ah, yes. Your blood traitor cousin is too scummy to associate with, even after our entire family is dead.”

“You can really speak so flippantly of-”

“But of course! What do I owe the bastard Blacks, hm?”

Narcissa’s lips are thin. Finally she says, “May I introduce my son, Draco.”

Draco perks up then, stepping between his mother and father. His back is straight, and Aveline notices with some indignation that he’s shot up another inch. He smirks. “Hello, Sirius Black.”

Sirius sneers down his nose at Draco. “Hello, young Malfoy heir. Tell me, how many Muggles have you cursed so far?”

“Sirius!” Narcissa admonishes.

Draco seems confused. “Why would I curse the Muggles in the cinema? They’re the ones that know how to make the film play.”

Sirius’s eyebrows shoot up to his curly hairline. “Excuse me?”

“I have been trying to… Instill some culture into my godson,” Severus intervenes. Every word of his drips disdain.

“I see,” Sirius nods. He seems far more impressed than he’d care to be. Then he glances for the first time at Aveline. “And who might this be?”

“This is my niece, Aveline Enigme. I raise the girl.”

“Poor thing,” Sirius snorts. His eyes are like coals. They lodge somewhere in Aveline’s chest and smolder. “Snivellus is going to ruin you, love.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Aveline snorts. “He’s very good to me. It’s fantastic to finally meet you, Mr. Black.”

Sirius seems taken aback and highly amused at the hand Aveline offers him. He takes it anyway and bends at the waist to kiss it.

Severus makes that strange choking sound again.

“Enchanted, to be sure, Miss Enigme.” Sirius straightens and looks back at Narcissa. “So, cousin. Why are you here?”

Narcissa takes a deep breath and looks at her husband. Lucius nods and places a hand on Draco’s back.“We wanted to offer to reinstate you to the Black family.”

Whatever he was expecting Narcissa to say, it clearly wasn’t that. Aveline watches as he turns deathly pale, then green, then pale again. “Are you serious?

“No,” Draco cackles, “ _you_ are!”

Aveline giggles, and soon the two are howling with laughter. They stop abruptly when a dementor hungrily bangs against the cell door.

Sirius grins. “Regular riot, those two.”

“My offer is entirely legitimate, Sirius. The paperwork has already been drawn up at Gringotts. You would have full access to the House of Black funds, full access to our legal protection, and full command of our properties. Everything.”

Sirius frowns and sinks down into his one chair. He crosses his legs and leans back with his hands behind his head. “Why would you offer me this? I _didn‘t_ kill Pettigrew. I’m not nearly as Dark as you’d like me to be. Also, if you think you’re getting _anywhere_ near my godson- ”

“This isn’t about Harry, sir. Nor is it about you being Dark.”

Sirius blinks curiously at Aveline. She knows she is a strange child, but she wishes his eyes wouldn’t see right through her. “No? Then what is it about, love?”

“Me.”

This catches the man’s attention. “You?”

“In return for being reinstated, we would like to request that Aveline be put under the full protections of the House of Black. Naturally, Draco will be able to extend these rights to her in full once he turns seventeen. However, we think it _prudent_ that it happen as soon as possible.” Severus snarls the words. Aveline can understand why some of his students are terrified of him.

“And what’s so goddamn important about your niece, Severus?”

“The idea wasn’t his. It was Dumbledore’s. If you agree to this, Dumbledore will not only step aside in his crusade _against_ you gaining custody of Harry Potter, but in fact will _help_ you with gaining custody,” Narcissa says. She doesn’t even try to sound persuasive. Aveline wonders how she can be so cold for so long and not freeze to death. “You know as well as I do that his testimony could make or break your case, Sirius. He _is_ already slotted as your representative at trial.”

Aveline refrains from mentioning that Severus hadn’t even told Dumbledore about her. He’d simply said that he needed Dumbledore to make the offer to help Sirius because of Voldemort business.

Her father must have been a very powerful wizard, to have a man such as Dumbledore bending convictions at just the mention of his name. Why is Dumbledore so keen on keeping Harry at that horrid Muggle home anyway?

Sirius frowns. The room is full of tense silence for several long minutes. “You understand, Narcissa, Snivellus… that if I agree to this, our families will be henceforth allied. For good.”

Narcissa glances at Severus. Severus stares broodingly at Narcissa. Finally, Narcissa nods. “We understand.”

Sirius nods also, slowly. “Alright. Give me a day or so to think it over.” He makes an aristocratically graceful and flippant movement towards his door.

“Of course,” Narcissa nods. The adults turn, and Draco smirks at Sirius one last time and turns with them.

Aveline lingers a moment. “I’ll tell Harry you said hello,” she says. She smiles in a slightly teasing manner at him.

Then she walks out of the door with the most notorious man in the Wizarding World calling after her.

* * *

**_SIRIUS BLACK REINSTATED AS HEAD OF NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK; DUMBLEDORE JOINS LEGAL DEFENSE TEAM_ **

* * *

 

 Aveline meets Albus Wolfric Percival Brian Dumbledore for the first time when Sirius Black is in the process of adding her to his family wards. Albus Wolfric Percival Brian Dumbledore apparently held enough sway to bail Sirius out of Azkaban until his trial.

She enjoys his beard immensely, but thinks that the pointy, star-patterned hat atop his head is a bit demeaning for a man of his status.

“Hello, Aveline,” he smiles. His eyes are very blue, and very expressive. They actually seem to twinkle in the low light.

Sirius apologizes profusely and gracefully when he takes an athame out of his robes and slices her hand open.

“Hello, Dumbledore,” Aveline says without flinching.

“I’ll heal this,” Severus murmurs, but she waves him away.

“Leave it. It’ll make a cool scar.”

“Oh, _honestly,_ ” Severus grumbles, but proceeds to bandage her hand the Muggle way.

“I was most surprised to learn of your-”

“Existence?” Aveline cuts Dumbledore off with a wry smile.

"I was going to say I was surprised to learn of your honorary admission into the House of Black, but yes. That too.” His beady eyes keep twinkling. It’s almost annoying to Aveline.

“I’ll be sure to further your knowledge of my existence, then, professor. My name is Aveline Atropos Morgane Enigme. I’m eight years old. And…” Here, Aveline trails off.

She eyes a spare slip of parchment on a desk in the study of Grimmauld Place, and blinks. Instantly, it is set aflame.

Dumbledore doesn’t gasp, but she thinks he may have stopped breathing for a moment. “That is quite a talent, Aveline.”

Honestly. The man is so transparent. “That’s nothing.”

She raises the water out of the glass sitting on the arm of Narcissa’s chair. Narcissa sniffs and rolls her eyes; she’d been about to take a sip. Aveline concentrates a bit harder and brings the ancient and dry potted plants back to life. A breeze from nowhere wisps through Dumbledore’s beard. She had only just recently mastered using all her Elemental powers at once.

“Severus,” Dumbledore says without looking away from her. “You have been keeping this delightful child from me for far too long.”

“That’s just like Snivellus,” Sirius calls.

And then the ward addition is completed. Aveline feels a strange sensation, almost like Side-Along Apparition. Magic squeezes against her from all sides, and she gasps in a strangled sort of way. Draco sits up straighter from his throne-like chair across the room, his keen gaze trained on her face. Then the pressure is gone, and all that is left is a heady sort of rush. She waits for the Black magic to settle into her bones.

When she looks up, she looks straight into the eyes of Sirius Black. She wonders if hers are as dark as his now.

“Congratulations, Aveline,” he breathes. He is something wild and fatherly and a husband and an animal and a bodyguard and a mentor and a best friend all in one. “You’re now forever under my protection.”

* * *

 

 

**_SIRIUS BLACK CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES. CUSTODY HEARING FOR THE BOY-WHO-LIVED SET TO BEGIN TOMORROW._ **

* * *

“Should we tell them? About us and Harry?”

Aveline carefully considers Draco’s question, then shakes her head. “No. We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t want to rock the boat too soon. Not when it comes to Harry. He’s too important. You know how much Severus hates Sirius. We can’t risk being separated before we’ve even met.”

“Fair enough.”

“Soon, though, I think,” Aveline says, trying to be hopeful.

Hope isn’t something she’s very good at anymore. That’s Harry’s thing.

* * *

 

**_SIRIUS BLACK GAINS CUSTODY OF HARRY POTTER!!!_ **

* * *

“Harry is coming back into the Wizarding World in two weeks,” Severus says. “On his birthday, no less.”

Aveline glances at Draco. He nods. She looks back at her guardian. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

* * *

When Sirius Black walks into Number Four, Privet Drive for the first time, Petunia Dursley is trying very hard to make sure none of her neighbors see him. Vernon Dursley is spluttering about calling the police. Dudley Dursley is in the kitchen, eating his third sandwich for lunch.

Harry Potter, the son of his best friends and his godson, the single most important human being to him on this earth, is sitting quietly on a hideous and expensive couch. Harry Potter, outcast from the Wizarding World and the Boy Who Lived, is grinning.

“Hello, Sirius,” the boy says before Sirius himself can say a word. “My name is Harry Potter.”

To everyone’s great astonishment, Harry comes bounding off the couch to wrap two skinny arms around his godfather.

“It’s about ruddy time,” Harry says around his tears.

Sirius blinks several times, and then barks a laugh. “My dear boy, you seem to have something to tell me.”

* * *

Fortescue’s Famous Sundae is melting down Aveline’s fingers. She huffs another breath. Next to her, Draco’s leg twitches for the tenth time. It’s not visible to anyone who might be looking, but it’s one of the biggest nervous tics the boy has.

“He’s on his way,” Narcissa soothes.

Aveline hisses under her breath and freezes the ice cream again.

She has been waiting her whole life to meet the other third of her triad. Now the moment is only ten minutes away and she has grown impatient.

Dumbledore apparently has a way to get Harry back into the Wizarding World while entirely avoiding the media. Severus and Lucius had already constructed wards around the patio of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. No one can see them. It’s more than a little disconcerting to watch people walk past them and not even glance their way.

“Honestly, you’d think Black would make this endeavor at least time efficient,” Severus snipes.

Aveline narrows her eyes at him, and he shrugs evenly.

There’s a strange and protective bond between Aveline and Sirius. There really is.

“There they are!”

Aveline snaps her neck around to watch Dumbledore emerge from the Leaky Cauldron, seemingly alone. Whatever he has done has hidden Sirius and Harry incredibly well. She doesn’t see them at all.

The media, armed with self-writing quills, thick pads of parchment, and a million cameras all shout at once.

“Where is Harry Potter?”

“What do you know about the Boy Who Lived?”

“Who were the Muggles responsible for his care?”

“Where is Sirius Black?”

“Dumbledore, do you have any word on Harry Potter?”

Suddenly there is a bright flare of unmistakable joy surging through the link. Aveline puts a hand to her chest and grins at Draco. He grins right back. Eagerly, she scans the crowd with him. Still no Harry.

Dumbledore enters Fortescue’s and happily walks out onto the patio. The media crowds around the door and wails. Aveline watches a blonde woman that looks like an insect claw at the windows.

“Alright, Sirius, I think you and young Harry can emerge now.”

Suddenly, from out of thin air appears Sirius, tall and handsome and wearing impeccable Muggle clothes. And next to him, grinning and beautiful in the sunshine, is Harry.

“Hello Aveline,” he says, still grinning. “Hello Draco.”

“Blimey,” Draco breathes, his eyes wide.

“ _Harry_ ,” is all Aveline can possibly muster.

The three of them barrel into each other at the same time. The instant they come into contact, arms winding around arms and knees clacking together, heads bowed under the deep blue sky, a shockwave of power is released. It spans outward in a triangle shape, blowing the entire roof of Fortescue’s off the building. It peels the paint off of a few buildings further down the Alley. Severus is thrown ten feet backwards through a glass window. Lucius narrowly avoids being hit by a catapulted Severus and instead slams himself into the ground. He gracefully takes Narcissa with him, and the two of them go rolling into the street. Sirius flies up and away, and is barely able to cast a Cushioning charm before being dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

Dumbledore stands silently through the blast. He raises his wand and repairs the damage to the ice cream parlor’s roof as it falls. Then he walks out of the protective wards and into the street, helping Lucius and Narcissa up and proceeding to dust them off.

He puts his wand to his throat in order to address the screaming witches and wizards and the two dozen Aurors that just popped into the street via Apparition, looking wildly around for the threat.

“Attention, everyone, attention. I apologize for that startling display. It seems young Harry Potter, who has just returned to our world, was so overcome with elation that he had a spout of intense accidental magic. All is well.”

The second half of his explanation is drowned out by the wave of cheers that go up at the announcement Harry Potter has in fact returned.

When the Malfoys, Severus Snape, and Sirius Black collect themselves enough to return to their respective charges, they find them still connected, heads still bowed, entirely unaffected by the blast at all.

“I have never been so confused in my life,” Lucius admits.

Dumbledore smiles. “I may have some books in my study at Hogwarts that could help clear this up. Would anyone care for a lemon drop?”


	4. Chapter 4

Aveline is pretending to be asleep. It is an art she perfected at age six, after Severus taught her how to read. He used to check up on her at night because she stayed up too late with her books.

She would love nothing more than to peruse all the books surrounding her in Dumbledore’s office. But for now, she is ecstatic at being able to lie next to Harry. Narcissa had Transfigured a chair into a wide chaise; Harry had been promptly placed between her and Draco to rest. All three of them have their fingers linked on his narrow chest.

Draco and Harry are both legitimately asleep. They would make terrible spies.

“Are you honestly informing me, Dumbledore, that my son, my _heir,_ is inalterably linked by soul to this girl and to _Potter_?!”

Oh, Lucius sounds furious. Aveline barely resists the urge to giggle.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I am afraid that is the case. Feel free to take all three of them to Saint Mungo’s. They won’t be able to do anything about it. No one can, and I must caution you against exposing them.”

“What does this mean for the three of them?” Narcissa’s voice isn’t anything like her husband’s. She could be discussing the weather. By Aveline’s count, she’s on her fourth lemon drop.

“It could mean several things. We’ll simply have to wait and see how their bond progresses over time.”

There’s stunned silence for a moment, and then Sirius demands, “Well? Aren’t you going to tell us what we might be able to expect? I’ve already several bones to pick with you, Dumbledore-”

Aveline thinks that she understands very easily how Sirius came from a Dark family. The snobbish ice in his tone mirrors Narcissa’s perfectly. Sirius could have been dangerous once, murderer or not. He still could be.

She makes note of this and tucks it away in the back of her head, where she has put all her mental notes for a long time.

Dumbledore sighs. “There hasn’t been a bond this strong on record since ancient times. The previous bond members showed signs of telepathy between them, deep emotional ties, and also physical ones.”

Lucius sounds sick when he speaks next. “Physical bonds?”

Aveline is positive there is something gleeful in Dumbledore’s tone. The candlelight in the room flickers across the backs of her eyelids. “Indeed. As a matter of fact, it could come in handy someday. When one is hurt, the others will know. When one feels a more enjoyable sensation, the others will feel it as well.”

Narcissa is the first to grasp the implications of this. “Dumbledore! If what you’re suggesting is correct then-”

“Yes,” Dumbledore agrees and sounds much graver. “If one dies, the others do as well. Most usually. There have been a few fickle exceptions.”

Lucius makes that strange choking sound Severus often makes at the mention of Sirius. Aveline listens as he gets up and strides out the doors, slamming the heavy things behind him. Someone silences them before they can make a loud crash.

“I sincerely hope those didn’t reach out and smack him on his way out. They have a nasty habit of doing that to anyone that slams them in such a manner.” Dumbledore doesn’t sound very sincere at all.

“You are telling me, professor,” Narcissa snarls in a whisper, “that if Aveline or that boy dies, my Draco will as well?”

“It is almost certain, Narcissa.”

For a moment, Aveline thinks Narcissa may get up and walk out with her husband. Instead, she hears Narcissa take several deep breaths. Then, “What can we do to help them?”

Dumbledore seems pleasantly surprised at her question. “In what way?”

“How do we ensure they remain happy? Healthy? _Protected_?”

Everything is quiet for a moment, but it is a different kind of quiet from before. Aveline senses something in the air that is almost like magic, but not quite. She debates for a moment, and decides it’s a secret.

“How far are you willing to go, Mrs. Malfoy? To protect Draco?”

“As far as necessary. During the war-”

_The war. The war. The war_. The words pound through Aveline’s head.

“Go on, my dear.”

“During the war, Severus confided in me… what he was. To you.”

“I see.”

“I agreed that I would help him. As much as possible. No one puts much stock in a Death Eater’s frivolous wife, you see.”

For the first time in her short life, Aveline begins to question the loyalty of the people her father entrusted her to. She isn’t sure which side she wants them to be on, and the realization terrifies her more than anything.

“Then it appears I have much to thank you for, Narcissa. Severus rarely informs me of the identities of his… friends. I was beginning to doubt he had any at all.” There’s a smile in the old man’s voice. Aveline wonders if he’s ever not smug about something.

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Draco.”

“Naturally. The things mothers do for sons always somehow astonish me. I should be used to it by now.”

“Please just tell me what needs to be done. I’ll speak with Lucius later.”

Dumbledore shuffles something around on his desk. “There are three main factors, I think, to take into consideration.”

“Of course there’s three,” Sirius mutters. Aveline almost jumps. She’d forgotten the man was even in the room.

Dumbledore continues. “The first is friendship. Never underestimate the power of it. Given the opportunity, these three would gladly forget the rest of humanity and associate only with each other. That would be most negligent, I believe, for you all to allow. The bonds they make now will serve them for a lifetime. The bonds they make now will guide them in the future, you see.”

“The second factor?” Narcissa asks tightly.

“Keep them all in good health. Make sure they eat fruits, vegetables, meats, breads. Getting plenty of exercise- both magically and physically- will be crucial for them. The less aches and pains they develop the less the group as a whole suffers. But then, I am sure these are things you are all already doing for the children individually. In that case, I recommend that you cultivate separate interests in the children. Give them hobbies outside of each other, you see.”

“And the last? Let me guess. A lobotomy.” Sirius growls the words like some sort of injured animal.

“No, Sirius, nothing quite that drastic. However, among being happy and healthy, Narcissa also expressed concern over the children being protected. While everyone in this room is educated enough to understand that wards couldn’t possibly be placed around all of them at all times- it would be neither efficient nor mentally healthy for them- I do recommend that you all find some sort of talisman for each of the children. Something that makes them stronger, makes their magic more powerful.”

At that moment, there is a strange popping noise. Aveline digs deep into her memory and recognizes the sound as house-elf Apparition.

“Mister Dumbledore sir requested snacks for childrens, sir?” The squeaky voice is loud in the otherwise quiet room. It causes Draco and Harry to stir next to her. Harry’s shaggy dark hair tickles her nose.

She loves him. She loves Draco. That is all she knows for sure, and for her that is enough.

“Yes, thank you. Narcissa, Sirius, Severus; I thank you all for your cooperation. These children are all very lucky to have such caring guardians. I think the rest of this conversation is better suited for another time, don’t you?”

“Severus, you take Draco and Aveline on, will you? I must track down my moping husband.”

Aveline pretends to be woken by the house elf with the boys. They rub their eyes and she brushes her hair out of her face. They eat the sweets and down the warm milk nervously. None of them want to be separated. She can feel their anxiety coursing through the link. She can feel Harry’s envy at the two of them going back to the Manor together while he is to leave with only Sirius.

“Everything will be fine,” she whispers. “We’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“I just found you two. I can’t be taken away again now!”

“It’s fine, mate. I’ll take care of Aveline and Aveline will take care of me. Meanwhile, you look a bit starved. No offense, of course. You need to rest and get some actual food in you.” Draco’s voice is authoritative and soothing, a perfect blend of Lucius and Narcissa.

“I suppose,” Harry grumbles.

“Besides,” Draco grins. “In all honesty, you’re catching a break. Aveline has horrid morning breath.”

“I do not!” Aveline shrieks. Her face is flaming crimson. Honestly, the nerve of Draco sometimes!

Harry grins at her. “Brush your teeth before you come see me tomorrow, yeah?”

Aveline is vastly irritated with the both of them. She lunges off the chaise and over to Severus. He watches her with a raised eyebrow. “Severus, please be so kind as to take me back to Beathan tonight. Not the Manor.”

“Aw, come on-”

“My mind is made up,” she sniffs. At least this solves Harry’s jealousy nicely.

Sirius’s laughter echoes throughout Dumbledore’s Floo the whole way home.

* * *

When Harry finally looks like a human again rather than a poorly dressed skeleton, Dumbledore suggests a press conference. The media has been going insane, trying to get just a glimpse of their beloved Boy Who Lived.

Sirius scoffs at Narcissa’s offer to allow Harry to borrow one of Draco’s suits, instead opting to have Madam Malkins make Harry one of his own. At least Sirius civilly thanks Narcissa for the offer though.

Progress.

* * *

“I really hope he likes the Quibbler,” Luna whispers to Aveline conspiratorially. “Daddy is giving him a free subscription for life to welcome him back to our world.”

It’s dreadfully hot this August. The windows in Luna’s room are all open, and from a distance they can see the Weasley children zooming through the air, playing Quidditch. Aveline has never met any of them, but they seem very interesting. She can see their red hair glinting in the sun from here, across several fields.

“I introduced Harry to the Quibbler weeks ago,” Aveline assures Luna. “He thinks it’s brilliant!”

Luna lets out a small breath. “Oh, good! Do you think he’ll like me at all?”

“I think he’ll adore you. I adore you. He should too.” Harry would never dislike her best friend outside of himself and Draco. Luna was the only other girl Aveline had ever come in contact with really. Often Aveline wondered if this is what having a sister is like.

Tonight is to be the first night she’s ever spent away from Severus and outside of his home. Narcissa had taken Dumbledore’s advice to encourage friendships in the children’s lives very seriously; Draco is to spend the night with Blaise, and Harry with the son of a couple Sirius once knew by the name of Longbottom.

She’s so excited for her first sleepover she’s practically quivering there on Luna’s floor. She can’t wait for night to fall. Xenophilius had already promised them fireworks of epic proportions tonight.

“I think my mum has made some snacks, if you want some,” Luna offers.

Aveline nods eagerly. Mairead Lovegood, she likes to think, is everything Narcissa Malfoy would have been if she were not filthy rich. She loves them both.

They trot down the stairs and they both shiver when they pass under the edge of the more high-powered Cooling charms. Mairead stands at the kitchen counter, a spell book on the edge of the windowsill.

“Hello girls,” she says without turning around. She has the dreamiest voice Aveline has ever heard. It’s almost exactly like Luna’s. “I was just brewing some Dreamless Sleep potion. Xeno keeps having these awful night-terrors about strange creatures called Nargles.”

* * *

“So what’s up with all the secrecy, mate?” Blaise licks his fingers slowly in the dying firelight. Draco had been spending more and more time with him over the past several months. Christmas was just around the corner, and he hadn’t even purchased gifts for Harry or Aveline yet, but the gift exchange for he and Blaise had been scheduled for tonight. He feels like a rotten soul partner.

“What do you mean?” Draco asks, adopting the lofty tone his father often used when dealing with Ministry employees. It is really quite effective.

“You know what I mean,” Blaise snorts.

“Not quite, actually.”

“You’re best bloody mates with Harry bloody Potter, and you won’t even speak of him.”

It’s a fair point, really, but Draco would rather die than admit it. “So? I’m best bloody mates with Aveline bloody Enigme, too.”

“Yeah but no one has even heard of her before. Did you know that? I’ve inquired into several social circles, actually, and no one’s even heard the name. She’s a bit odd, from what I’ve seen of her. She’s too observant, you know? It’s like she sees everything. It’s right creepy-”

“Shut your mouth, Zabini, or I’ll shut it for you!”

“Alright, alright! I’m just saying, mate. You’re the Malfoy heir. You need to associate with a better sort.”

Draco feels something like anger well up in him, but stronger. Every cell in his body seems to protest what Blaise is saying. Not just his body, but something else too. His stupid linked soul, probably.

“What sort could be better than Harry? Than Aveline, whose bloodline, I remind you, goes farther back than even mine?”

“Well. Not a _better_ sort, then. A more _social_ sort.”

“I’m friends with you, for some bizarre reason. That’s enough for me.”

 Blaise is quiet for a moment. His dark eyes dart about the expensively decorated room, courtesy of his most recent stepfather’s funds. Then he looks back at Draco. “Look, Draco. I’m not saying these things because I dislike Harry. I’ve never even met the bloke. Aveline’s great too. She’s very polite to me every time we meet.”

Draco’s thin eyebrows shoot up. “Then why are you so concerned, Blaise?”

“There’s been talk. About what’s going to happen when we all get to Hogwarts in a few years?”

“That’s ages away-”

“Yeah, but not really. We’ll be nine this summer. You know what Slytherin house is going to be like. Everyone will have made strong alliances before we’re even Sorted.”

“And you’re worried that my alliances won’t necessarily be your alliances.”

Blaise sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “I’m worried you won’t have _any_ alliances, and I know how much you crave power, Draco. You won’t be top-dog if you don’t make it clear now.”

“Like hell!”

“It’s true. Pansy is royally pissed. You’re supposed to be ringleader, mate.”

“Pansy…” Draco says, frowning. He hadn’t seen the girl since his birthday party. She was really quite annoying, but she was also vicious.

Draco considers what Blaise is saying. It’s entirely true, that friends are gained in Slytherin through cunning, careful consideration, wealth, and future prospects. Most such friendships are often formed before even attending Hogwarts, or on the Express after a brief introduction from respective parents.

Draco used to have a large social circle all set up and waiting for his call. After the Goyle incident, not so much. After Aveline started developing all her Elemental powers, even less. Now, with his preoccupation with Aveline and Sirius and Harry, his social circle consisted of… Blaise. Sometimes Theo Nott.

Slowly, an idea begins to form in Draco’s head.

“What if-”

Blaise cuts him off. “Oh, Salazar. I know that look. I really do. Draco, whatever you’re planning in that slick blond head of yours is probably vastly immoral, sneaky, underhanded, and bound to be illegal in certain parts of the United Kingdom.”

“And?”

Blaise grins. “And I’m sure I’ll love it, but I’m not sure how well it will work.”

Draco grins back. “Then listen closely, mate.”

* * *

“I cannot believe my grandmother is making us do this,” Neville groans.

“What?” Harry asks. “Have tea with your great aunt and uncle? Trust me, mate. I know all about horrible aunts and uncles. Yours don’t seem nearly so bad.”

Neville tugs at his too-tight shirt collar again and gapes at Harry. “Are you mad? Uncle Algie keeps trying to force magic out of me. He dropped me off the end of Blackpool Pier two summers ago and I nearly drowned.”

Harry almost concedes his argument, but thinks of the cupboard under the stairs and keeps quiet.

“Anyhow, it’s not as though they’re _your_ family,” Neville continues. “You shouldn’t be subjected to them along with me. They’re going to be practically worshipping you the entire time, and I know how you hate that.”

Neville’s face is very red, and suddenly Harry understands. Neville is embarrassed. “Oh, Neville. Everyone does that. As long as you never do, it’s fine. You can’t control your family.”

Neville seems absolutely miserable. He gives up on his collar and sinks down onto his bed. The blanket covering it is gray. The walls are gray. The Longbottom manor is a chill and dank place- not shady like Malfoy Manor, and not menacing either, but rather depressing. Everything is bland, and Augusta enjoys taxidermy rather too much. The fact that it is the middle of March and constantly raining does not help the dreariness.

Still, Augusta is extraordinarily polite, if a bit brutally blunt, and Neville is a very good friend to Harry. He’s never ogled or goaded or teased. It is much more than Harry has come to expect. Aveline and Draco are bound to him by soul and he loves them more than anything, but that makes everything much more intense. With Neville, there is quiet.

“I suppose,” Neville sighs.

Harry bites his lip. He’s not very good at comforting people. “And as for your magic, I’m sure you’re very powerful. I don’t have many spurts of accidental magic, and when I do they’re not very strong.”

Neville gives him an incredulous look, and instantly Harry realizes his mistake. Dumbledore had told everyone last year that the giant blast in Diagon Alley was his fault; accidental magic caused by extreme emotion. No one but their family members knew of the soul bond between him, Aveline, and Draco.

“That doesn’t count. I was a bit overwhelmed at the time!” Harry rushes to cover his mistake. Thankfully, Neville doesn’t question it further, just snorts humorlessly and continues to mope.

“Neville! Harry dear! Come downstairs now please! Our guests are here!” Everything out of Augusta’s mouth seems to be ended with an exclamation point. Neville groans once more and tugs at Harry’s sleeve.

Neville, for all his moping about his grandmother, has really been rather fortunate; the entire top floor of the Longbottom home is his suite. They tromp down the wide staircase to the fourth floor, and present themselves to the old, decrepit people waiting. Harry has never met Algie or Enid before.

Enid dresses more outrageously than even Augusta, in a giant hat resembling a live daisy and a bright red party dress with a slit up the side meant for women much younger than she. Algie wears what seems to be a normal dark green suit, but Harry looks closer and realizes it is made from moss.

The Wizarding World is quite the bizarre place. Much more so than either Aveline or Draco ever lead him to believe.

“Neville, my boy!” Algie flings out a hand and places it firmly on Neville’s shoulder. “Any sign of magic yet, my boy?”

“No, sir.” Neville turns as green as Algie’s suit as he says this.

“Well, we’ll soon fix that! And Harry! Harry Potter! How do you do, my boy?”

“Very fine, thank you.”

“Yes, yes, tell that scoundrel godfather of yours that I say hello, won’t you, my boy?”

“Of course, sir.”

Tea goes something very much along those lines; plenty of “my boy”s and gushing from Neville’s aunt Enid. Augusta goes on and on about what a tragedy Neville’s parents are, and how he really should try harder to exhibit magic and make them proud.

The word Squib comes up several times.

“What does that mean?” Harry asks. He’s had to ask this more than he ever wanted to.

“It means someone that genetically should be very magical and isn’t. It means something went wrong and the magic gene failed. They live in and know about our world, but can’t participate in it.” Neville winces every time the term comes up, and not knowing what else to do, Harry passes him extra bits of cake under the table to comfort him.

At the sixth mention of the word Squib, and after quite a lot of brandy, Algie stands up raucously. “Nonsense. Neville, my boy-”

The man whips out a bizarre looking wand almost longer than his arm and points it at Neville. Neville lets out a squealing sound that resembles a mouse, but has no time to move before Algie fires a spell at him that scoops him up into the air. Neville dangles there upside down.

“Grandma!” Neville cries.

“Oh, hush now Neville, Uncle Algie is just trying to help you,” Augusta hushes him, licking cream from a pastry nonchalantly.

Harry watches in fascinated horror as Algie tosses open the nearest window and thrusts Neville outside of it. Neville screams, having no choice but to stare straight down at the ground four stories below.

“Now, let your magic help you out of this one, my boy,” Algie snickers.

“I can’t-”

“Sure you can, my boy,” Algie says reassuringly.

Suddenly, a house elf pops in. “The meringue is done, mistress.”

“Oh, Algie, have some of this delightful lemon meringue!” Enid shrieks happily.

“Meringue?! Oh, I love that elf’s mer-”

Harry yells wordlessly and lunges out of his chair, his hand outstretched, but it is too late. After losing concentration, Algie’s magic has lost its grip on Neville. The whole family watches in horror as he dives towards the ground, screaming his head off.

No one even has time to cast a spell to save Neville. Harry is convinced he is about to watch his best friend go _splat_ against the ground and therefore lose his first friend in the Wizarding World outside of those he is bound to.

Instead, Neville bounces when he reaches the ground, like some sort of demented beach ball. Harry watches in amazement as Neville surges upward again, past Harry and his family, above the house. He falls downward only to bounce again, all the way down the rolling hills and into the road at the bottom.

Everyone stands and stares in stunned silence.

“Did he really just-” Augusta gasps.

“Yes. Yes he did,” Harry nods, amazed.

Then Neville stands up, looks up at them all, and bursts into hysterical tears. Next to him, so does Augusta, but more from happiness rather than terror.

“I told you that you were powerful, mate!” Harry calls, not stopping himself from grinning. Draco will have a field day with this one.

* * *

_Hello, daughter._

_Evil little one. So perfect and Dark. I am so very proud of your progress over the course of just nine years of life._

_Tell me, daughter: do you feel the heat inside of you? I had fire magic, too._

_Burn for me, Aveline. Show me how worthy you are to share my blood._

_BURN._

****

Aveline screams. She screams and screams even though by now her lungs should have run out of air. Around her, the room blazes in fire hotter than any she has ever produced before. There are burn marks on her arms and stomach and legs. Never before has her own fire burned her.

The door is thrown open. Through the darkness, fire, and smoke, she sees Severus. His eyes are wide with fear and observation. He waves his wand and water streams out, not even uttering anything aloud. Then the fire is gone, but she and everything around her is drenched to the bone.

“Aveline! Aveline, speak. Tell me what happened, child.”

She can’t. All she can do is scream. She still hears the hissing voice in her ear, in her mind. Desperation fills Severus, and she sees it though she cannot respond to it.

_Not even in Hogwarts yet, my child, and yet you’ve already befriended my most hated enemy. You are very efficient, daughter._

She is awake, and yet the voice continues. She stops breathing entirely, choking on the taste of smoke in her throat as Severus Apparates them both to the Manor.

“Narcissa, Lucius,” he calls, knowing they have felt the wards and will be awake. His voice is controlled for her benefit, but she can hear the panic in his tone. It is nothing compared to the terror inside her; terror of her father, terror of herself, terror of the parts of him she recognizes in herself. Terror, because this is what she was made for and she knows that now.

She writhes in the arms of the man her father entrusted her to as Voldemort takes possession of her mind and body.

***

_“You have been a most loyal servant, Severus. I am proud.”_

_Aveline is somewhere far away. She does not have a body. She does not have a mind. She can feel her skin straining to contain the beast within her._

_Her vocal cords speak but the voice is not hers._

_“My Lord,” Severus mutters lowly, “I must implore you to release the child. She is not nearly strong enough to contain you. You may end her.”_

_The beast ignores his plea. It has spotted another servant guarding the door of the guest bedroom, wand out. “Ah, and Lucius. Still so loyal.”_

_Lucius flicks a glance at what used to be Aveline. He looks away again. He can barely stand the sight. “Indeed, my Lord.”_

_Another spasm wracks the muscles the beast inhabits and the vocal cords scream in an inhuman sort of way and the beast retreats for just a moment, long enough for Aveline to see tears stream down Severus’s face._

_***_

_“Mum? Mother, what in Merlin’s name-”_

_“Draco, darling, get back!”_

_“But Sirius is here, he has Harry. We know something is wrong; we can’t feel her, Mum.”_

_“Draco, love, please return to your room!”_

_Sirius strides into the room, pushing past the Malfoy heir in the doorway and drawing back the curtain._

_He gasps, seemingly strangled, when he sees._

_“How in the hell is that bastard possessing her? He doesn’t even have a body. And how are the other two not affected?”_

_“We don’t know!” Narcissa screeches. The muscles have started to spasm again, trying to accommodate the beast. The body grows weaker. Aveline watches from far away. “Please, Sirius, don’t mention them at the moment.”_

_“I can’t do anything. No one can do anything but Aveline now.” Severus has no inflection left in his voice._

_The beast has enough control over the body to make the mouth grin at Sirius. It is a demonic grin, just the way the beast likes it. “Ah, the other Black brother. How wonderful to find you in my presence at last.”_

_“Go to hell you motherfucker,” Sirius snarls. The eyes watch Lucius gape comically, watch Narcissa begin to sob, watch Severus raise his eyebrows dispassionately._

_Then they watch as Sirius brings out an athame that Aveline recognizes from far away and split his palm open. The blood spills out and onto the face, blocking the view of the eyes and turning everything red._

_“Come back to us, Aveline. Come back now, love,” Sirius pants._

***

Aveline is jarred back into her body very abruptly, and everything she knows is pain. She calls out for the one that has always taken care of her, that has held her through all the pain she has ever known in this life.

“Severus!”

“She’s back!” Narcissa gasps. Instantly everyone is a whirlwind of motion.

Lucius ushers her boys out of the room even though every part of her soul is calling out for them, and their souls for her. Narcissa begins to snatch healing potions, and Severus grasps her face and peers into her eyes. Aveline stares back. It is all she can do.

“Aveline, I need you to be very strong for me now,” he whispers. Then he murmurs a spell she has never heard before and suddenly there are three in her mind.

Severus does not feel painful the way her father does. Instead he tiptoes across her mind, pulling out the things he needs and then replacing them gently.

_Do as I say. Do as I show you._ This voice belongs to Severus. She nods even though she doesn’t think she can see him. She still feels as though she is on fire.

Severus shows her several memories of his own, plants them in her head; him as a gangly teenager, mastering Occlumency.

_Close your mind. Close it as I learned to close it. Close it to everyone but you, Aveline. Do it now._

It is her last chance and she knows it. She focuses very hard and slams the walls around her mind closed, transforms them into iron, and then steel. The beast is forced out first, suctioned out of her head until not even a wisp is left. Severus is shoved out afterward, more gently but so forcefully that when he arrives back into his own head, he stumbles backward several feet.

Sirius catches him by the arms, supporting him for several long moments. Sirius doesn’t even seem to notice his new charge, just scans Aveline with his dark, dark eyes. “Alright now, love?”

She nods, and he instantly drops her caregiver unceremoniously to the floor. Severus lands hard, but stands and is at her side in a second, brushing her matted hair away from her forehead.

She can hear Draco and Harry yelling angrily from a room several doors down. Their anger and worry course through her. She doesn’t have the energy to send them anything back.

She is so sore she imagines she’ll never move again.

“Oh Aveline, oh sweetheart, my poor baby…” Narcissa croons, and begins to apply burn ointment to all of Aveline’s physical wounds. They are deep and putrid, the skin around some of them black, with the subsistence of jelly.

“Will she be alright, Narcissa?” Lucius asks, worry creasing his brow. It is the first time Aveline has seen the man afraid.

“Yes, yes, the burns are already starting to heal. There won’t even be a scar. The flames weren’t Dark.”

“They were mine,” Aveline whispers. “The flames were mine. I was dreaming and he was in the dream, telling me to burn, so I guess I did…”

Sirius and Severus share a dire look that has nothing to do with their rivalry and everything to do with her. It scares her. “Where are Draco and Harry? I need them here.”

“Sweetheart,” Narcissa says, rubbing on the last of the thick salve, “I don’t think they should see you like this. It may frighten them, you see.”

“They’re more frightened not knowing what is going on,” Aveline argues. “I need them.”

Sirius sighs. “And what do you propose we tell them, love? That Lord Voldemort somehow possessed a random girl he has no conn-”

He stops at the guilty looks on everyone’s faces. Aveline never thought she would see the Malfoys ashamed. “What am I missing?”

Severus steps in. Aveline holds her breath. She couldn’t bear to see the look on Sirius’s face if it were revealed that she is the offspring of a monster. “Voldemort knew of the girl’s existence before his downfall. He had… plans, for her. What precisely those plans were I cannot say.”

Sirius looks shocked enough by just this half-truth. “Merlin. You lot weren’t joking when you said she needed protection, eh? Well, alright. Bring in the little blokes. They’ll drive themselves mad waiting.”

Lucius sighs and Narcissa spells her bandages firmly in place while he goes to retrieve Draco and Harry. Aveline can hear them crashing down the hallway like a hurricane before they reach the door. Draco’s eyes are blazing, and Harry seems as though he wants to cry.

“IF ANY OF YOU EVER, EVER KEEP HER FROM US AGAIN, I WILL-” Draco is beyond livid, the words flying from his mouth like daggers. His normally combed hair is sticking up in all directions.

“Draco, don’t,” Aveline interjects, and shakily holds her arms out. Both Harry and Draco rush into them, collapsing on either side of her. Harry is shaking; Draco is growling nonsense into her ears, threatening the earth and the sky and the gods if anything ever hurts her again.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” she whispers. The nearness of their souls comforts her frazzled and injured one. Their magic surrounds her in a shining, golden globe. Harry’s magic is beautiful and pure and strong. Aveline almost cries at the love she finds there. Draco’s magic intertwines itself with Harry’s, sparking at the edges. His is powerful, bold, and protective. Narcissa gasps in awe and moves to touch the globe surrounding the three of them; as soon as her finger touches the membrane of magic, she is shocked horribly by Draco’s.

Harry’s magic reaches out and soothes the shock away. The golden tendril then falls perfectly back into place in the globe. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Draco doesn’t want any of us touched at the moment. Especially not our magic.”

There is an ancient understanding in them now. They are three souls that are really one. They are one soul that is really three. It has always been this way, and always will be. They belong to each other, are meant for each other. There is rarely love as great as this.

“This is so bizarre,” Sirius says, watching them all closely for signs of alarm. But there could never be pain or fear here. They are together.

“Aveline will be just fine, now that someone restored us to her,” Draco half-snarls, glaring at all the adults in turn, and cuddles in closer. He buries his face in Aveline’s neck. He has known her smell, her skin, her hair his entire existence. He has never not been able to sense her. He never wants her taken from him again.

“We should rest. We should all rest. That will help her, I think,” Harry suggests. He doesn’t know how he knows this. The magic surrounding them seems to know all, to whisper instructions to him like instincts.

“Well darlings, won’t you at least allow us to move her somewhere more… clean?” Narcissa asks, a hint of her snobbishness coming out at the mess on the bed. Aveline is still covered in Sirius’s blood.

Draco makes an irritated noise, but Harry nods. Draco has trusted Harry with his mind, his emotions. He has known Harry’s thoughts, Harry’s instincts, Harry’s feelings for his entire life. He trusts Harry as he trusts no one else. If Harry thinks Aveline should be moved, she probably should be. So Draco slowly allows his magic to fall, and Harry does the same. The globe fades, and then is gone.

Severus casts a lifting charm on Aveline. She sighs; the weightless feeling calms her. She is surrounded by people who love her; people who would do anything for her. It doesn’t matter which side they are loyal to anymore, as long as they are loyal to her. Everyone here proved that loyalty tonight.

Someone casts a Scourgify, and Narcissa shoos the boys long enough to change Aveline into one of the slips she leaves at the Manor to sleep in. Then she is being tucked into Egyptian cotton sheets, and her boys are crawling into bed next to her. The globe of magic returns, the healing of her soul continues, and she is just drifting into sleep when she hears someone sigh, “It’s bloody three in the morning.”

Severus bends over Draco to kiss her forehead. It is the most physical affection he has ever shown her. “Happy ninth birthday, then, Aveline.”

* * *

It is Halloween, and everyone has gathered at Sirius’s apartment in Muggle London. Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom, Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood, and all of their parents crowd into the small foyer.

Draco’s parents, Sirius, and Severus are all setting up a “haunted house” in the rest of his apartment.

“Say, Mr. Black wouldn’t happen to be single, would he?” Blaise’s mother, (currently between husbands) practically purrs. She’s a striking woman, all sharp angles and smooth curves, dark skin and red lips. Blaise resembles her quite a bit; he’ll grow up to be very handsome.

“Yes, but he doesn’t quite fancy your type, Chiara,” Augusta snipes. The dead falcon on her hat seems to glare at the woman.

Chiara glares right back. “Oh, and what type would that be?”

Augusta sniffs. “Come now, honey, there are children present.”

Mairead hides a smile behind her hand. Xeno grabs her other one, not even bothering to mask his chuckle.

Chiara squeaks indignantly. “Honestly! The nerve of some people! Blaise, Theo, I’ll be back at the Manor in the morning to pick you both up.”

With much clacking of heels and a whiff of perfume, she’s out the door and gone.

Blaise takes a deep breath. “It’s about time. I thought she’d never leave. Thanks, Augusta.”

Augusta snickers and reaches out to pinch his cheek. “Oh you cheeky little darling, you. Be more respectful of your mother.”

Sirius pokes his head out of the black curtain he’d erected earlier to hide the “haunted” part of the house from view. “Is that frightening gold digger gone?”

“Yes,” Aveline giggles. She thinks it’s sweet that they’ve gone to all this trouble to ensure she and her friends have fun. However, after being possessed by her father, she doesn’t think Halloween is liable to scare her.

“Good,” Sirius nods firmly, “now the party can start! My lovely adults, refreshments in the form of cake and Butterbeer are in the kitchen. Children, make a line. Quickly, now. Luna, Neville, no snogging in the back now, hear?”

Neville turns a bright red that is borderline dangerous, and Augusta smacks Sirius upside the head with her giant purse on her way to the kitchen.

Luna smiles sweetly at Sirius. “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that just yet, Sirius. Maybe when we’re older.”

Mairead doubles over in hysterical laughter. “That’s my little girl! Oh, wipe that look off your face, Xeno, Neville is a lovely boy.” She pushes her husband after Augusta and into the kitchen.

Aveline loops her arms through Draco’s and Harry’s. Sirius bends down to look her in the eye. She’s dressed in a Muggle witch costume, wart and all. Even Severus had gotten a snicker out of it. Sirius tweaks the tip of her pointy hat. “Are you prepared to be petrified?”

“I certainly won’t be,” Aveline sniffs and throws a teasing glance at Theo, “but you might want to have some spare mandrakes around in case Nott faints.”

Theo scowls at her. He doesn’t talk much, but he can give looks that could kill. He steps in line behind Luna and Neville.

Sirius leads them through the obstacle course of fake Inferi, ghosts, ghouls, trolls, giants, and acromantulas. Luna screams once or twice and buries her face in Neville’s collar. The two had only met a few times before this, but had become quick friends.

“Luna, don’t,” Neville says and shoves her off of him. “Everyone will think we’re… _you know_!”

Draco snickers next to Aveline. “Yeah,” he mutters lowly, “like anyone would ever _you know_ with Longbottom.”

Aveline smacks him lightly on the arm, not even jumping when Lucius leaps out in front of them, glamored to look like a vampire. Harry nearly pees himself though, and then cracks up laughing.

“Merlin, Father, it’s not as though you’re not pale enough!” Draco snickers.

“Be quiet son,” Lucius scolds around fake teeth, “you’re ruining the illusion. These things are terribly fun, you know. Don’t tell your mother I said that.”

When they reach the end of the tour, Sirius leaves them to open the last door alone and go grab a Butterbeer for himself. “Have fun,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows. Then he points at Neville. “Not too much fun, though, Longbottom. Hands off Lovegood.”

Neville swoons just a little on his feet.

“What do you think is behind the door?” Luna asks.

“Probably a bunch of jinxes,” Theo mutters cynically. He never has fun anywhere.

“They wouldn’t do that,” Harry shakes his head. “It’s probably something really nice! I hope.”

“Maybe it’s a boggart,” Blaise grins wickedly.

“Oh honestly, let’s just open it already,” Draco rolls his eyes and reaches for the knob.

Inside, Sirius’s study has been transformed. Jack-o-lanterns line the edges of the room, and candles float near the ceiling, providing the only light. The walls have been turned transparent, so they can see Muggle children all dressed up and trick-or-treating below them on the street. Cauldrons full of candy sit in the middle of the room, each cauldron engraved with their names.

“Whoa,” Theo breathes. He brushes his dark hair out of his eyes and smears his face paint.

“Well, let’s not just stand here,” Luna says calmly and pushes at Draco’s shoulders until he moves. The children spill into the room and to each of their cauldrons.

Several hours later, they’re each in a candy-coma.

“Ugh. Please, someone take me to Saint Mungo’s. I simply can’t go on. I’ve eaten myself to death,” Blaise moans, sprawled out across the floor.

“If you don’t want the rest of your cauldron, pass it to me,” Luna shrugs. She’s eaten hers entirely and half of Neville’s.

“How are you not dead yet, Luna? I mean honestly,” Draco demands. He’d only gotten three quarters of the way through his own cauldron.

“I keep breathing.”

Aveline giggles and tackles her next chocolate frog. She’s gotten Dumbledore’s card four times just tonight. She misses the look Draco and Blaise exchange entirely, and Blaise’s brief nod, but then Draco clears his throat.

Harry senses Draco’s solemn mood at the same time Aveline does, and together they stare at him.

“Listen, everyone, Blaise and I have a… proposition, for you all.”

Aveline lets go of the chocolate frog. It hops away, past the wards, and falls to the concrete outside with a splat. A Muggle child dressed as a corpse bride looks up, half hopeful and half confused.

“What is it, Malfoy?” Theo asks, seemingly disinterested, but Aveline noticed his eyes light up for the first time.

“Well, see, Blaise and I were conversing some time ago… right before last Christmas, actually.”

Harry frowns at both Blaise and Draco. “You two have been cooking up something for almost a year and you haven’t told me, Draco?”

Guilt shoots through Aveline. They still don’t know who her father is.

“We were talking about social circles, and about Hogwarts,” Draco goes on through gritted teeth. “And about how some people go in with alliances already made; with a trusted and, er, solid group of friends.”

Theo seems to understand immediately, but Neville and Luna just seem confused.

Aveline thinks that Draco is very, very smart.

Blaise jumps in. “Look, Draco and I are all but guaranteed to be sorted into Slytherin, and in Slytherin there’s a sort of hierarchy about things. We plan to be at the top of it, and we want all of you to be in our-”

“Ruling family?” Luna cuts in with a small and knowing smile.

“Precisely,” Draco nods. “No one would ever be expecting it. We would be… powerful.”

Neville is frowning. He’s more disturbed by the offer than grateful. “Look, Draco, it’s nice of you to offer lifelong friendship and everything, but, um, I don’t think I’m going to be in Slytherin. At all.”

Draco smirks. “Exactly, Longbottom. Exactly.”

Aveline gasps, the true implications sinking in. “You want to create an inter-house network, rather than just assert yourself amongst the Slytherins. Don’t you?”

Oh, her soul mate is so, so smart. She’s so lucky.

“Well,” Draco shrugs, as though he isn’t terribly pleased with himself, “the only outward and visible alliance would be between whichever of us is Sorted into Slytherin. At least for awhile. But we would all remain loyal to one another, for good, no matter what. Eventually, when the time is right, we slowly reveal just how… broad our circle of friends truly is.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment. There are vast implications to swearing fealty to each other. They are all from very different backgrounds. Only recently have they begun to socialize as a group.

Finally, Luna says in a whisper, “I don’t want to lose any of you when you all go off to Hogwarts. You’re all a year older than me, you know. And if you get Sorted into different houses and then grow distant, I might not have anyone when I arrive.”

“You’d always have me, Luna,” Neville says strongly. It’s the first time in his life he’s ever sounded authoritative.

Draco smiles.

“We could help each other. Having the knowledge of all the Houses rather than just one or two… it could help,” Harry nods slowly.

One by one, everyone agrees.

The other Slytherin socialites won’t even know what hit them when they all get to Hogwarts. Aveline is more than pleased with this. The other Purebloods and upstanding half-bloods will arrive, expecting to be at the top of the food chain, and find themselves uprooted by an exclusive group they never saw coming.

Aveline feels protected. Aveline feels cared for. But more importantly, Aveline feels powerful.

Perhaps she should be less concerned with who is loyal to her father, and more concerned with who is loyal to her.

Then when she leads, they will follow.

It won’t even matter if she’s Dark or not.

* * *

Draco turns ten with much fanfare.

“One more year,” Harry grins.

“One more year,” Aveline echoes.

It beats like a drum through their veins- the place where their lives will begin.

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts._

* * *

Aveline turns ten surrounded by her friends. They have affectionately started referring to their little group as “The Circle”. She loves it. She loves them. She loves everything.

Sirius gives her an athame of her very own; it has a large piece of onyx embedded in the hilt. The rest is made of silver. Remus Lupin, whom she doesn’t know very well yet but likes very much, also comes with Sirius, and gifts her with a book about the ancient Celts. She’s excited to find it’s one she hasn’t read yet.

Narcissa gives her a beautiful gray silk cloak that matches the color of Draco’s eyes. Lucius hands her ten Galleons because he’s “terrible at purchasing things for little girls”. Harry got her unicorns made out of cotton candy that prance around until they are eaten. Luna gives her earrings in the shape of rainbows; Luna has been obsessed with earrings lately, ever since they got their ears pierced at a Muggle shop together. Neville gives her an awkward hug and a misshapen fuchsia hat that Augusta had deemed “darling”. Draco gives her a painting of a dragon with a bunch of empty frames- the dragon flies from frame to frame, around and around her room. Theo gives her a silver bracelet with a rune on it without looking at her and mutters something under his breath about it meaning _fate_. He wears one on his own wrist that matches, but with a rune that means _friendship_ , and Aveline has enough courtesy to pretend not to notice.

Severus gives her the best gift of all.

“I’m going to regret this so much,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. He goes into the house, and then comes back out again with something hidden under his robes.

“Close your eyes,” he says at Narcissa’s urging. Aveline does and holds out both hands. Something warm and fuzzy and small is placed in her palms.

It moves, and she starts, then opens her eyes and grins.

A tiny black kitten rests comfortably in her hands. It’s clearly the runt of the litter, and has bright blue eyes. A matching blue ribbon is tied around its little neck.

It blinks at her and mews once.

“Oh!” Aveline gasps. She’d never entertained the idea of having a pet before. Severus had never really seemed the type. “Oh, Severus, she’s perfect! Thank you so, so, so much!”

She carefully hands her new kitten to a beaming Narcissa, and then launches herself into Severus’s arms. He stands stock-still for a moment, and then pats her back.

“I love you, Severus,” Aveline whispers, so quiet only he can hear.

She feels him gasp, and then draws away, back to her kitten.

“What should I name him?” Aveline giggles with Luna.

She ignores the way Severus stares at her for the rest of the night.

* * *

“So how’s Jinx?” Luna asks. She’s been hanging upside down on her bed for half an hour at least, and her face isn’t even red.

“She’s fine,” Aveline shrugs. Her kitten had quickly grown out of being a runt under her care. She’s strong and has smooth, shiny fur.

She also makes Severus sneeze. Aveline thinks it’s cute.

“I’m thinking of knitting her another sweater,” Luna continues. “Did she like the last one?”

As a matter of fact, Jinx had entirely unraveled the last one and had clawed Aveline’s arm open when she tried to put it on her. Aveline doesn’t mention this. “Oh, she quite enjoyed it. Thank you Luna.”

“I’ll run downstairs and ask Mum for more yarn,” Luna says.

Aveline sighs and gets up to follow her. Perhaps Mairead will have something good to eat. She’s a fabulous cook.

The two girls skip down the stairs and through the kitchen. The door to Mairead’s lab is slightly ajar, and Aveline can see her furiously scribbling notes.

“We probably shouldn’t disturb her,” Aveline whispers.   
“Oh, nonsense,” Luna says, shaking her blonde head. Aveline watches her curls bounce with envy. The slight waves in _her_ hair don’t bounce. “She won’t mind.”

Luna reaches the lab door and swings it open. In the same instant, Mairead pours a bright purple substance into a cauldron containing something decidedly green.

Not even a full second later, and the whole cauldron bubbles over. Mairead gasps, and then the explosion happens.

The floor beneath them vibrates, and Aveline pushes Luna to the floor. Mairead is gone straight away, a shard of cauldron lodged in her throat. The explosion destroys everything in the room, coating everything in a thick and sticky acid. An entire section of wall is blown away.

It is the most abrupt and violent thing Aveline has ever witnessed. One moment, everything is perfectly normal. The next, everything is gone. The world is uprooted.

Underneath her, Luna is staring uncomprehendingly at her mother’s body and whimpering. Aveline’s heart beats loud in her ears. The air seems to ring. There is so much blood. Hers and Luna’s, and so much more staining Mairead’s blonde hair. Blonde hair like Luna’s. Curls like Luna’s that will no longer bounce.

The panic travels straight through the link, straight to Harry and Draco, and a scream starts somewhere deep in her stomach, travels through her throat, and escapes through her mouth. Tears follow, hot and tragic.

Mairead is gone. The woman she considered a mother figure, second only to Narcissa, is gone. No more snacks. No more jokes and winks.

Underneath her, reality seems to set in for Luna. Aveline’s single scream seems to trigger something in the younger girl. Luna begins to struggle underneath Aveline, hit and claw at her face in an effort to get to Mairead. Animalistic cries, angry and wounded and full of grief, tear themselves out of Luna’s mouth.

“No, Luna, no you can’t, I’m sorry,” Aveline gasps. She is still sobbing herself. Another scream starts.

That is how Molly Weasley finds them when she arrives; lying on the ground next to Mairead Lovegood’s body, screaming and crying and fighting each other and holding on to each other desperately. Acid has eaten through their clothing and parts of their skin. She takes in the scene of destruction and deduces immediately what happened; Mairead always did like to experiment.

Molly knows Luna quite well, having been a neighbor to the child since birth, but she hasn’t a clue who the other girl is. She sends a Patronus to Arthur immediately. Within minutes, authorities from the Ministry arrive to survey the scene and take the body.

It takes three Healers from Saint Mungo’s to hold Luna down long enough to shove Calming Droughts down her throat, and then a Dreamless Sleep potion. Aveline takes hers without much of a struggle, but she is too hysterical to answer the questions of the Healers.

The last thing Aveline sees before sleeping is Luna being Portkeyed away and Mairead’s body being photographed.

***

Aveline wakes several hours later in a hospital room. She has never been to Saint Mungo’s. It’s really quite clean. Loud, angry voices sound from the hallway outside her room.

“Do you have ANY IDEA who we are?! I will withdraw funding for your entire wing. I will have you fired and you will have your Healing license entirely revoked if I am not allowed in to see her RIGHT THIS INSTANT.” Lucius is practically roaring.

“Honestly, Healer Morgan, be reasonable,” Narcissa chimes in, voice colder than Aveline has ever heard it.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, I’m under strict orders not to allow anyone in to see the girl until her guardian arrives-”

It is then that the Calming Drought wears off.

The panic hits her tenfold. All Aveline can see is the body of Mairead, lying there bleeding out on what was left of the floor.

Aveline rips the magical needles from her arm and lunges off the hospital bed. She falls to her knees- she’d underestimated the height. She shakily gets up and sprints to the door of the hospital room. It has been locked from the outside. This does nothing to quell her panic.

“LUCIUS,” she shrieks. She wonders where Harry is, where Draco is, where Severus is. “LUCIUS, PLEASE. LUCIUS, PLEASE!”

She does not know what she is begging for, but she knows she needs protection. She is alone here, in a hospital that never even knew she existed. She is without records, without Severus, and she just watched Luna’s mother die.

Narcissa is trying to calm her from outside the door, and Lucius is threatening bodily harm to whoever Healer Morgan is, but the terror inside of Aveline is all-consuming.

“LUCIUS PLEASE GET THE DOOR OPEN. LUCIUS PLEASE. NARCISSA I NEED YOU, I NEED HARRY AND DRACO, SOMEONE PLEASE. MAIREAD IS DEAD. MAIREAD IS-” Aveline chokes on her words.

She is only ten years old. Ten, and someone has died. It was an accident that Aveline had nothing to do with, but she is dead. How many more will she watch die? How could she possibly be the cause of a death someday? She knows the instinct to kill runs in her veins. Doesn’t it? Her father did that, to so many people, and he expects her to someday do it as well. She will have to watch more deaths, be the cause of more deaths, endorse more deaths, Revel in Darkness and Evil and Death.

Aveline cannot breathe. The air is coming too fast, but it doesn’t feel like it’s coming at all.

She just watched someone _die_.

Suddenly, the door dissolves entirely. Someone has Vanished the entire thing. She falls through the doorway and lands in a heap on the floor at Narcissa’s feet.

“Darling, there you are,” Narcissa croons, and bends to gather Aveline to her chest. She picks her up as though she weighs nothing and carries her back to her hospital bed. Lucius charges into the room. Draco is nowhere in sight.

Healer Morgan isn’t, either. It seems Lucius’s threats finally got to him.

“Breathe, Aveline,” Lucius instructs sternly. For once, his authority doesn’t work. She simply can’t.

“Come on, darling, breathe or else we’ll have to get that infernal Healer back here,” Narcissa mutters irritably.

“W-where’s Sev-Severus?” Aveline demands.

“On his way, sweetheart. I promise.”

“D-Draco? H-H-Harry?”

“They felt it when you were hit by the debris, and then felt your panic,” Lucius says quietly. “We couldn’t get them calm and so left them with Sirius in London.”

It is only this thought that reaches Aveline. She tries very hard to take a deep breath, not for herself but for her soul mates. They are in pain. They are terrified out of their minds because she is. She has to calm down for them.

Within minutes, she is calm enough to feel them again. They are shouting questions at her through the link, scared half to death. She sends them reassuring vibes through their connection, lots of love and tranquility. Then she allows them to feel her grief, and shows them both images of Mairead dead on the ground through her memories.

Their grief is echoed back to her.

_I love you_ , she thinks to both of them, as fiercely as she can.

_I love you._ Harry echoes.

_I love you._ Draco howls.

They are with her, even if it’s not physically. They love her. She will be okay.

She opens her eyes to find Lucius and Narcissa watching her. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? We can bring that idiotic man back here if it’s really necessary,” Lucius offers, clearly still annoyed.

“I’m sure. Thank you. I apologize for being so irrational.”

She is not used to people seeing her out of control, grief-stricken, vulnerable. It makes her uncomfortable.

Thankfully, formality is a language Narcissa understands perfectly. “It’s quite alright, sweetheart. There’s nothing to forgive.” Narcissa kisses her on the forehead.

Aveline is just beginning to inquire after Luna when Severus swoops into the room. He looks Darker than ever. In fact, he looks homicidal. Sirius is right behind him, and for the first time looks as though he has in fact killed a man before and would be quite thrilled to do so again.

The two of them are much more alike than they’d care to admit.

Severus’s black robes sweep behind him and his shiny, long black hair hangs in his eyes. He looks like an angel of destruction. Sirius walks with an aristocratic cane in his hand, the handle carved to portray a wolf-like dog. He seems to want nothing more than to beat someone with it.

Lucius notices it too. “Say, Sirius, I quite like that cane. Where might I aquire one?”

“Just a little something I picked up a week ago,” Sirius shrugs. “I can give you the name of the bloke later. Operates a quaint little place on Knockturn.”

Lucius seems further impressed.

Aveline relaxes a bit more. That cane is probably so hexed to anyone other than Sirius that contact with it would do much more damage than break bones. She is in good hands.

“Hello, Sirius. Hello, Severus,” she mumbles quietly from Narcissa’s arms. “I’d appreciate going home now. Or perhaps to the Manor. Somewhere cool and dark to sleep would be grand.”

“I could kill that woman twice over,” Severus growls to Lucius, ignoring Aveline entirely. “The absolute nerve of it, experimenting with my child in her home!”

Narcissa snickers in Aveline’s ear. “Oh, look at that. Severus has turned into a mother hen.”

Aveline barely hears her. The words _my child_ reverberate in her head.

“Now, Severus. We lost a dear friend today,” Lucius scolds, but he seems as amused as Narcissa.

“Yes, and I almost lost my daughter. That kind of occurrence tends to put things in perspective, you know. What if it had been Draco, Lucius? I’m so furious I was actually contemplating taking the Pureblood route and suing someone on the way here before I realized she was no longer alive to sue. The Quibbler doesn’t make enough to even be worth Black’s lawyers…”

_My child. My daughter. My child. My daughter._

_My child._

_My daughter._

Suddenly it seems to hit Severus all at once. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. He seems to have gained ten years in ten minutes. “Salazar. Mairead is dead. I thought this shite ended with the war.”

_My child my daughter Mairead is dead my child my daughter._

It is all too much for Aveline.

She tries to cry as quietly as possible and can’t. Her sobs come out in keening howls.

Severus’s face softens, and he takes her out of Narcissa’s arms. She buries her face in his shoulder and smells the soap he makes because he hates store-bought.

“Lucius, Sirius, I trust between the two of you, her papers and records of this visit will be taken care of?” Severus asks. The two men nod, and Severus nods back. He holds out his arm to Narcissa. She takes it hurriedly, and they Apparate on the spot.

They are both shocked to find Augusta Longbottom already at the Manor, coddling a sniffling Luna. Neville sits off to the side, and it’s evident he’d also been crying.

“Xenophilius is… distraught. Quite beside himself, really. Naturally, I stepped in,” she explains coolly at their questioning gazes.

“Naturally,” Narcissa agrees. “Please, Mrs. Longbottom, feel free to stay here with Miss Lovegood as long as necessary. We have plenty of spare rooms. Severus, I’m going to retrieve the boys. I’ll be right back.”

Severus gestures to Augusta. Together, they carry the girls up the many flights of stairs and to Aveline’s favorite guest bedroom- the one with green furnishings and a view of the gardens. It is always very cool and dark, exactly as she had requested back at the hospital.

Aveline stares at Luna. Luna stares at Aveline. Augusta goes back downstairs to check on Neville. Severus sits down in a chair to keep watch over the two girls.

“I’m so sorry, Luna,” Aveline whispers.

Luna is quiet a moment. Her wide eyes are swollen. She looks horrid. “We’ll both be fine. My father is going to take good care of me, you know. And I’ve thought a lot about it. In the hospital, and with my father, and even when Augusta came to get me. I’ll see my mother again, I think. Not any time soon. But eventually. In the meantime, I’m sure The Circle will be here. They’ll take care of me as well. You, too. Neville was lovely earlier.”

Aveline is quiet, just as Luna was quiet before. Then she says, “You know, Harry and Draco always think it’s good for me to rest after I’m hurt. We should probably sleep.”

Luna considers this. “I’m very, very hurt, Aveline. I’ll have to sleep for a very long time, I think, if their theory is correct.”

Aveline nods. She wants to cry but there are no more tears left. “Me, too.”

So the girls hold hands, and they fall asleep, and they sleep in their dreams, too. They sleep like that for a long, long time.

***

Things are bad for a while after Mairead dies. Xeno is not quite all there anymore. Neither is Luna.

The Circle, however, stays strong.

Aveline’s Elemental powers grow somehow stronger. In her grief, she creates whirlwinds of fire that wipe out entire sections of the forest near Beathan. Then with a wave of her hand, she recreates the forest only to destroy it again the next time with water.

She feels Darker every day. Death took something from her. Now she wants to take and take and take until there is nothing left to be had.

***

On the nine month anniversary of Mairead’s death, Aveline dreams of her. Usually the dreams about Mairead are dreams about how she died. This night, they are dreams of her on a never ending island, under a never ending sky of bright blue, and she is laughing a never ending laugh. She is waiting for Luna, waiting for Xeno, waiting for everyone she left behind. She will keep waiting until they join her.

In the dream, there is no Darkness anywhere. Only Light.

Aveline wakes up, and when she does, the Darkness inside her is miraculously gone. In her head, she sees Mairead wink at her one last time.

* * *

Draco turns eleven.

Lucius and Narcissa gift him with an eagle owl. This September, he goes to Hogwarts. He will need to write them. Draco names the owl Hermes.

Severus gives Draco something for protection- the talisman Aveline wasn’t supposed to know Dumbledore advised years ago. It’s a long silver chain with the ancient rune for power and strength on the end of it. He puts it around his neck and seems to stand straighter.

The pounding in their veins grows ever-louder. The future is so close they can taste it.

_Hogwarts Hogwarts Hogwarts Hogwarts…_

* * *

Aveline turns eleven.

To her surprise, she also receives an owl. Not from Severus, of course, seeing as he’ll be at Hogwarts with her. Lucius and Narcissa have purchased it for her. They want a letter once a week, no exceptions. So does Sirius. So does Augusta. So does Xeno.

Her owl is entirely black, just like Jinx. She despairs that she will only be permitted to take one of them to school until Severus rolls his eyes and declares he’ll take the cat.

Aveline names her owl Isis.

Late that night, after all her guests are gone, Severus gives her a talisman. Hers is in the form of a necklace also, only hers has four long, attached chains. From each chain hangs a large stone; blue tourmaline, to assist her water Element; pure moonstone, to assist her air Element; green moss agate, to assist her earth Element; and a blood-red sunstone, to assist her fire Element.

It is the simplest and prettiest and most useful thing anyone has ever given her, except for perhaps Isis.

So close. So close.

_Hogwarts Hogwarts HogwartsHogwarts…_

* * *

 

Neville turns eleven.

He gets a toad.

“Figures,” he mutters under his breath to Luna. “You can name the stupid thing.”

They’re all convinced she’ll pick the most ludicrous name in the history of names, so it surprises everyone when she takes one look at the hideous thing and declares, “Trevor.”

* * *

Harry turns eleven.

Sirius gets him an owl.

Harry’s owl is a perfect snowy white, with a curious disposition and soulful eyes. He names her Hedwig.

To Aveline’s surprise, Severus has picked Harry’s talisman as well. It is a necklace matching Draco’s, only his rune is for wisdom and love.

Harry still blushes whenever he receives a present, or cake, or even a smile on his own birthday. He’s not quite used to being celebrated on such a personal level.

The Dursleys deserve death of the most painful kind. They really do.

No matter.

They are so close they can practically see the steam from the Express.

The thought sings in their veins.

_HOGWARTS HOGWARTS HOGWARTSHOGWARTS!_

* * *

Aveline wakes up.

It is September first.

She smiles.

It’s time to finally, finally, go to Hogwarts.


	5. Chapter 5

Aveline, Neville, Theo, Draco, Blaise, and Harry all share a compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

“Sod it all,” Draco groans, peering at his chocolate frog card. “I got _another_ Dumbledore.”

Harry snickers. “Yeah? Well I got Rowena Ravenclaw.”

Draco glares. “I’ve been trying to collect her for _ages_ -”

“Too bad,” Harry sneers. “So have I.”

Aveline flips another page in _Hogwarts, A History_. It’s really quite boring. There’s much more accurate and thorough information in the Black library than in this silly volume. “Now, now boys. Be nice.”

Neville sighs for the umpteenth time. “I’m so nervous. Oh, gods, just let me be Sorted into Hufflepuff already and be done with it!”

Theo looks up sharply. He’d been reading, also, but something much less leisurely and decidedly Dark, a departing gift from his father. Aveline hasn’t decided if she wants to ask to borrow it yet or not. “I swear on Merlin’s left arsecheek, if you’re Sorted into Hufflepuff, I will never speak to you again. Circle be damned.”

Neville pales considerably. “But, Theo-”

“No. No exceptions. You’re too intelligent to be a Hufflepuff. Shoot for Ravenclaw, why don’t you?”

Neville shakes his head vehemently. “Merlin, no. I couldn’t! They’d eat me alive. I don’t like studying much except plants anyhow.”

Theo studies him a moment more, then shrugs. “Whatever. Just not Hufflepuff.”

The train turns a sharp curve and Blaise falls over sideways, still snoring. His head makes a sharp crack against the window, and he jolts upright, rubbing his eyes.

Neville huffs out another nervous breath and wipes his sweaty hands on his robes. Instantly, his eyes grow wide and he jumps to his feet with what can only be described as a shriek. “Oh sweet baby Merlin, I’ve lost Trevor! Oh, Luna’s going to murder me if she finds out, she loves the bloody thing…”

Draco cackles, and Harry tries his best to hide a grin behind a pumpkin pasty. Aveline smirks behind her book. She was wondering how long it would take him to notice the toad was gone.

Neville opens the compartment door and slams it behind him, dashing off in a frenzy.

“Someone should probably go help him,” groans Theo, and obligingly clamors to his feet. Aveline eyes the book he places in his seat, skimming the title: _A Booke of Magik Moste Foul._

Interesting, and quite advanced, too.

“Severus redid his classroom like I asked him,” Aveline announces, tossing her own useless book aside.

“Daddy’s girl,” Blaise snickers.

She blinks once or twice at him, the word _Daddy_ bouncing around in her chest. Severus as her father. Her dad. Her _Daddy._

Her heart gives a painful lurch in her chest, and she shoves memories of the possession aside.

“Yes well, at least she might make a decent grade in Potions, then, Zabini. We all know you’re hopeless. You could hardly help Augusta make the tea last week,” Draco sniggers.

Blaise’s face turns red. “Hey, Malfoy, watch your mouth! It wasn’t _my_ wand that had a hissy fit the first time I ever picked it up.”

Getting her wand was one of the best memories Aveline possessed. She’d been waiting all her life to have a wand, to be able to direct real spells with a real tool rather than just Elements with her dull fingers. However, the second Draco had picked up a wand, Harry had as well. The cores had reacted badly with each other. Apparently, the wands of soul mates had to mate as well.

To say the least, choosing wands for the three of them had been nothing short of explosive, and Ollivander was now sworn to secrecy. However, there’d been no way to hide the intense noise emanating from the shop.

Draco sinks into his seat, taking his wand out and twirling it between his fingers, and snarls at Blaise. “Whatever.” 

At that moment, the compartment door bursts open and a girl with bushy hair and large front teeth sticks her head in. “Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville’s lost one.”

“We know Neville,” Harry rolls his eyes. “Believe me. His toad hasn’t exactly come back to his compartment, has it? It’ll turn up eventually, though, I’m sure.”

The girl grins brightly. “Oh, so this is where he was riding? Well, the toad couldn’t exactly have left the train, could it? I’m-” At that moment, she seems to notice the wand in Draco’s hand. “Were you about to do magic? Let’s see it, then.”

And down she plops, right between Harry and Draco. They share a bewildered look over her frizzy hair.

“Er, right, then,” Draco mumbles, and points his wand at Neville’s trunk. He’d broken the handle trying to lug it onto the train. “ _Reparo!”_

The handle snaps back together instantly, and Draco lets out a barely discernable sigh of relief before pasting his smirk back onto his face. “There.”

The bizarre girl gives a polite clap, and seems to notice Aveline for the first time. “Oh, hello! I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. Pleasure to meet you.”

Aveline shakes her hand, but something rubs her the wrong way about this girl. She is much too enthusiastic. “I’m Aveline. Are you Muggle-born?”

“Oh, yes,” says Hermione, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, “my whole family is made up of, er, Muggles, it was _quite_ the shock to receive a Hogwarts letter, I assure you. Oh, look, we’re almost to the station! You lot had better put on your Hogwarts robes, hm?”

Just as quickly as she’d came, Hermione flounces out.

“I don’t know what House that crazy bint is going to be Sorted into,” Draco says, staring in shock after her, “but I sincerely hope I’m not in it.”

“Agreed. She didn’t even speak to me, and clearly I’m the most attractive of us all,” Blaise sniffs. Aveline can’t quite tell if he’s serious.

“I dunno,” Harry says and shrugs with a grin that reminds her of Sirius, “I kind of liked her.”

***

“Firs’ years? Firs’ years, follow me! Mind yer step!”

Up until now, Aveline had been quite sure Severus was exaggerating the size of the “great oaf Hagrid”. Now she knows she should have believed him. The man is massive and would be rather intimidating if it weren’t for his utter incompetence.

Still, he is rather endearing.

They follow the half giant through thick trees, and then comes the first glimpse of Hogwarts.

It is far more than Aveline ever imagined. The castle sits high on the mountain, all of its windows twinkling golden in the dark. The lake lay like a guardian and an offering before it.  There were more turrets and towers than Aveline had expected, and a shudder travels through the entire group of first years.

“Merlin,” Draco breathes. Silently, he, Harry, and Aveline join hands.

“It’s nice,” Theo says, appearing behind them like a ghost. Neville, apparently, has found Trevor once again.

“Behold the castle, boys and girls,” Blaise smirks. “Then feel free to turn around and bow down to me, your benevolent king.”

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid calls. Aveline and her soul mates immediately lunge for the nearest one, and Neville trips into it after them. Trevor lets out an indignant croak when he’s invariably squashed.

Theo, Blaise, that Granger girl, and a redheaded boy Aveline’s never seen before pile into the boat next to them.

“Everyone in? Alright. _FORWARD!_ ” Hagrid shouts. The boats surge toward the castle. Aveline can’t tear her eyes away.

The smooth black water of the lake carries them all the way to a small harbor under the school. Neville doesn’t duck in time for the tunnel, and smashes his head against the opening.

Aveline follows her other classmates, refusing to relinquish her hold on Harry and Draco. Hagrid leads them to a great wooden door, and then stops. “Wait here!”

The first years huddle in a mass, shivering in anticipation.

“Draco,” Harry whispers uncertainly, “what if I get Sorted into a different-”

“Won’t happen,” Draco snorts dismissively. But Aveline can feel him sending reassurance to Harry through the link. She squeezes both of their hands.

Suddenly, the door swings open to reveal a tall, strict looking teacher. She peers down her nose and through her spectacles at the children waiting there. Aveline likes her immediately without knowing why; mostly because she seems to be very practical.

“Thank you, Hagrid, I can take them on from here,” says the woman. “Come along, first years!”

She leads them not into where the Great Hall must be, but into a small room off from the entrance foyer. She proceeds to introduce them to the school.

“Yap, yap… Hush, woman, I just want a feast already,” Blaise mutters in Aveline’s ear. Theo makes a noise of agreement.

Several students are startled by the presence of ghosts once the woman- Professor McGonagall- leaves them for a few moments. The girl named Hermione begins to berate the redheaded boy, Ronald apparently, for having dirt on his nose before the Sorting Ceremony. Neville manages to lose Trevor once again.

Aveline stands very still and takes deep breaths. There is magic all over the castle. It calls to her in the air.

Finally, McGonagall comes back and orders them into a line. Aveline’s breath catches in her chest. This is it.

She walks with the rest of the first years, with Draco in front of her and Harry behind her, through giant double doors, into the Great Hall. All eyes turn to them. There are hundreds of students at four long tables. The ceiling is unlike anything she’s ever seen- it’s hard for even her to believe that it’s not actually the sky.

She darts her eyes instantly to the staff table, and finds Severus’s eyes. He’s caught her ogling her new school. Aveline blushes, and she watches as a smirk flickers around the corners of his lips.

He looks much Darker and much more intimidating, sitting up there snarling at everyone. She finds it funny, and the thought that he looks a bit like a melancholy bat calms her somewhat. Severus is here. She had almost forgotten.

McGonagall places a stool in front of the first years, and then places an old pointy hat on top of it.

The hat begins to sing, of all things.

“ _Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_

_But don’t judge on what you see,_

_I’ll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me.”_

Well. At least the hat has full confidence in its own abilities.

All of the assembled students burst into applause when its song is over. Aveline claps halfheartedly along with everyone else. Draco seems as unimpressed as she. Harry just looks confused.

Then McGonagall begins to call out names.

“Oh, bloody figures it’s in alphabetical order. I’ll be last,” Blaise groans somewhere behind her.

It seems like no time at all, and the professor is calling her name. Aveline’s breath catches in her throat and her heart pounds against her ribcage, desperate to get out.

Aveline squares her shoulders. Severus, to his credit, doesn’t seem worried at all, but she notices he _is_ sitting on the edge of his chair.

She walks on trembling legs to the stool and sits.

“Ah,” says a tiny voice that sounds like an old man in her ear. She is very thankful it isn’t in her head.

“Aveline _Enigme_ , hm? Very clever of your father. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me,” the voice continues.

Aveline grips the edges of the stool so hard her knuckles crack and turn white. The rest of the world has disappeared. It is her and the voice now. She squeezes her eyes shut.

“You are really quite the versatile little one, Aveline,” the hat goes on. “Really, I could place you anywhere. It’s rare that I see a mind like yours.”

Aveline remembers Theo’s comment on the train. She twists her wrist to finger the rune on the bracelet he gave her all that time ago. _Fate_.

_Not Hufflepuff_ , she pleads in her head.

“Not Hufflepuff? Why not? It would be good for you, I think. You’re much more tolerant than anyone would expect. Irony at its best, my dear. Well, alright. How about Ravenclaw? You certainly have the appetite for learning.”

Aveline thinks of her room at Beathan, and of her favorite guest room at the Manor, all dressed in greens. She wishes she was curled up under those blankets, safe and warm, instead of this drafty Great Hall with a million eyes on her and this hat deciding her entire life.

“Hmm. Gryffindor would be good for you too. You’re very brave, Aveline. But you’re not very impulsive. And it also seems you’re loyal only to those who show loyalty to you first. You don’t offer it very willingly.”

_Just not Hufflepuff_ , she pleads again. At least if it’s Gryffindor, Sirius will be proud.

The hat chuckles quietly. “Alright, alright. That one is off the table. So is Gryffindor, I think. So that leaves Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Tell me, Aveline. If I place you in Slytherin, will it please your father?”

_Daddy’s girl_ , snickers Blaise in her head. It is not Voldemort’s face she pictures, but Severus’s. _Yes. Yes, he would be pleased._

The hat seems surprised. “Oh. Well that _is_ interesting. Slytherin will be incredible for you, Aveline. You’re going to be so… _bold_ by the time you leave Hogwarts. Congratulations.”

The hat pauses a moment, and Aveline has enough time to open her eyes and realize everyone is still staring at her when the hat yells, “ _SLYTHERIN!_ ”

She yanks the hat off her head, and instantly her eyes dart to Severus. He smiles just a bit and nods at her. She grins with relief and walks quickly to her cheering House.

She sinks down onto the bench and watches the next few Sortings with rapt attention. Hermione Granger, to Aveline’s great surprise, is Sorted into Gryffindor. She seems more like a Ravenclaw to Aveline. A more intense observation of the girl is needed, it seems. Obviously, if she is somehow brave and loyal enough to be Sorted into Gryffindor, she has some fierce underlying qualities.

Neville also goes to Gryffindor, though the hat seems to take as much time with him as it did with Aveline. She rolls her eyes. He was probably _begging_ the stupid hat to put him in Hufflepuff. Everyone sees how worthwhile he is but him.

Draco’s name is called, and the hat barely touches his head before calling out “ _SLYTHERIN!”_

Her soul mate is by her side, grinning happily at her and greeting their new housemates, in seconds. Severus gives him a nod, also.

Theo rolls his eyes when the hat is placed on his head. Aveline expects him to be immediately announced, but instead the hat deliberates a moment. Then, to everyone’s great surprise, the hat yells out, “ _RAVENCLAW!”_

Aveline gasps and shoots her eyes towards Draco and Harry. They look just as shocked as she feels. Theo’s father had been a Death Eater. There’s no way on earth he should have been Sorted into any other house but Slytherin.

Theo, to his credit, takes it in stride. He shrugs coolly and shuffles over to his House. Aveline narrows her eyes to make sure he’s welcomed warmly, but shouldn’t have worried. That Justin Finch-Something kid has already clapped a hand on Theo’s shoulder.

Before Aveline knows it, it is Harry’s turn. For some strange reason, after a few seconds of the hat being placed on his head, intense feelings of confliction and anxiety begin to course through their link.

Aveline and Draco share a worried look.

Then the hat opens its mouth and their worlds fall apart.

“ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ”

The Gryffindor table erupts in screams, whoops, howls, and cheers. Hermione Granger seems delighted.

Aveline digs her nails into Draco’s knee, more confused than she has ever been. But it is more than that.

She feels abandoned.

***

They hardly see Harry for a week. Every time they do, he is with that Ronald Weasley bloke. Even Neville seems to be having trouble reaching him.

The whole world loves Harry Potter. Everyone wants to meet him and be his friend. Aveline keeps a close eye on the Granger girl, but she mostly sticks to herself and reads a lot. Aveline decides she likes her much more for this.

Still, she’s hardly slept and even though the food is delicious and her dorm is a beautiful emerald green, dark and cool, she hasn’t slept. She keeps having nightmares about Harry dying in numerous and strange ways. She sobs with her curtains drawn until Harry wakes in his own bed across the castle and sends her comforting vibes and images.

“Today is Friday,” Draco murmurs softly to her at breakfast. “We have double Potions with the Gryffindors today.  We’ll see him then and get this mess sorted out straight away.”

Aveline winces at his use of the word _sorted_ and chews halfheartedly on some toast.

Just then, the mail comes. Both Isis and Hermes fly straight to them. Aveline watches as Hedwig arrives and soars over them to Harry.

Isis lands gracefully on Aveline’s shoulder. She’s a petite owl, but strong; her black feathers glisten blue in the morning light. Aveline takes the letters attached to her leg and hands her the rest of the toast as a treat. Isis coos and nips affectionately at Aveline’s ear, but doesn’t take off right away.

Aveline rips open her first letter.

 

_Dearest Aveline,_

_We were ever so pleased to learn you were Sorted into Slytherin! We know you, Draco, and Blaise will do great things in Slytherin House. Everything is going very well here at the Manor; Lucius is going to have a social of some sort with a few select Ministry employees, and while I’m sure it will be fabulously boring, you know I can’t resist the urge to dress up._

_Now, my dear, I fear I must offer you some advice. Harry also sent us a letter, informing us of his Sorting. As loathe as we are to admit it, Lucius and I both saw this coming. Both of Harry’s parents were quite accomplished Gryffindors. Sirius himself was a Pureblood from an exclusively Slytherin family, and was Sorted into Gryffindor. Believe me when I say it was quite the scandal at the time, as I’m sure young Theo’s situation is now. However, I must encourage you to try and embrace Harry’s House. Your souls are bonded. He loves you more than anyone else does except our Draco, and perhaps Severus on a good day. The first few weeks of school are always quite trying and exciting. I’m sure once things settle into a more familiar routine, Harry will find plenty of time to be with both you, Draco, and your other friends. I also would like to remind you that a strong attribute of Gryffindors is loyalty; whoever is loyal to Harry is loyal to you, darling, and diverse company is always good company. Now, that’s all I’ll say on this most frustrating matter._

_I trust that you’ve had an excellent first week at Hogwarts. To ensure this theme of excellence continues, I have enclosed several treats for your enjoyment. In return, I expect a much more cheerful letter than your first!_

_Much love,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

 

Aveline smiles, and fingers the small bag of pastries enclosed with the letter. The Malfoys are very good at spoiling children.

She reaches for the next letter, but it’s really more like a note.

 

_Dear Aveline,_

_I miss you very much, but Father is keeping me very busy. We think there’s a pixie infestation in the gardens, but so far have managed to find nothing but droppings. Give my love to the rest of the Circle!_

_Love and friendship always,_

_Luna_

 

The last letter is from Sirius.

 

_Oh, Aveline, honestly? Slytherin? You have forever shamed the name of Black. Well, actually you’ve probably pleased all of the dead bigots that I managed to piss off when I myself was Sorted. However, seeing as I am now the only Black, and I’m ashamed, I think it’s safe to say you’ve shamed the entire Noble House._

_That being said, congratulations, my dear. My brother was in Slytherin, and he was an alright bloke until he_ _went bonkers, became a Death Eater, and died…_

_No, really. I’m happy for you. You are a very cunning and precocious little thing. There’s no place better for you than that dreary dungeon. You’re not nearly bullheaded enough to be a Gryffindor anyhow._

_Good luck dealing with Harry, though. I’m sure that between myself and his new Housemates, he’ll be uncontrollably reckless in the future._

_Also, do Augusta and me a favor. Keep an eye on Neville for us, will you? He writes home nearly every day. I think he’s having separation anxiety. No eleven year old boy should be that eager to please his grandmother, nor should he be nearly that anxious. It’s a magical boarding school in a castle. What in Merlin’s name could really be that panic inducing?_

_Also, I have never loved Theo more in my life. He’s completely destroyed his father’s psyche. I saw him on Knockturn the other day when I went with Lucius to purchase new canes, rip-roaring drunk and proclaiming his entire bullock sack of sperm a complete failure. Give Junior a high five for me won’t you?_

_Here’s hoping the glass walls I’ve heard are in Slytherin House don’t break and you all don’t drown and die horrible, squid-infested deaths!_

_Sirius_

Aveline knows Draco has been reading Sirius’s letter over her shoulder. She rolls her eyes at his humor, but feels Draco tense.

“Blimey,” he moans, “I didn’t even _think_ of that. The wards are going to fail and we’re all going to _drown!_ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aveline snorts. She pockets her letters and shoulders her bag. “Come on, we’d better get to Potions.”

Aveline will never admit it as long as she lives, but she is more excited for Potions than any other class. Severus is one of her favorite people in the world, and Potions is one of her favorite subjects.

She’s not even slipped up about calling him Professor yet.

She and Draco slip into the classroom with five minutes to spare. Hermione Granger is already there, sitting in the first row with a quill poised to write. Honestly, _why_ isn’t the girl a Ravenclaw?!

Harry practically skips into the class with Weasley at his side. Harry plops down next to Aveline and grins at both her and Draco.

“Hey, guys.”

“Oh gee,” Draco sneers coldly. “Look who’s speaking to us, Aveline.”

Aveline sniffs disdainfully, and in her head sends out, _Oh gee, it’s our soul mate, back from his week-long vacation!_

“Oh come off it,” Harry grumbles. “I’ve been-”

“Busy being fawned over, we know,” Aveline snaps. Narcissa’s words in her letter float through her head, but she violently shoves them away.

“Hey! Leave Harry alone!” Weasley practically shouts. “He’s been busy making _friends_ , unlike you two freaks. The most I’ve seen you talk to is Zabini. That’s a bit beneath you, isn’t is Malfoy?”

“You call those idiots _friends_?” Draco’s voice is perfectly level. He narrows his silver gaze in a deadly sort of way. “All they want from Harry is fifteen words about them in the Prophet.”

Harry looks stricken. “Draco, you don’t _actually_ believe that, do you?”

“You tell me,” Draco retorts, and through the link Aveline feels him opening his mind completely to both her and Harry.

Harry doesn’t take the bait; he doesn’t dare. Instead he closes his own mind a bit more, and Aveline feels the separation like a knife.

_We miss you, Harry,_ she thinks quietly, angrily. Why won’t he understand? He’s lost the Slytherin subtlety he’d had before Hogwarts, instilled in him by both her and Draco. Instead he is loud, obnoxious, a _Gryffindor._

Severus enters the classroom and begins calling the roll. His eyes flick backwards and forwards between Harry, Aveline, and Draco. He only looks once at Weasley, whose face is as red as his hair with anger.

“Ah, Potter,” Severus says coldly once he reaches his name on his roster. “Our very own _celebrity._ ”

Severus is really much more observant than anyone gives him credit for. To her sheer horror, Aveline’s lower lip trembles, and she bows her head over her book to hide it.

Severus still notices. Instantly, his face goes hard.

“Potter!” says Severus suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry raises his eyes to Severus’s, silently meeting the challenge. “The Draught of Living Death, sir.”

Severus glares. “Where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat, Professor.”

“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“Nothing. They’re the same plant.”

Severus stares at Harry a moment longer. Then he says, “Observe, class. Clearly, fame isn’t everything. Perhaps you’ll be more interested in Potter’s competent brainpower from now on, rather than his name. I know at least a few of you already are. But it would be a shame, wouldn’t it Potter, to injure your own image?”

Harry turns scarlet and shamefaced. Perhaps, Aveline realizes with a jolt, Severus knows more about the situation than he is letting on. Harry is ashamed to associate with them because they are Slytherin and not part of his beloved House? Fury fills her to the brim. A fierce roaring fills her ears. She feels her marks begin to emerge around the corners of her eyes.

“Did you know you’ve got ink right by the corner of your eye, Miss Enigme?”

Aveline jumps, startled out of her angry reverie. Severus raises his eyebrows at her pointedly and she wills her marks away.

She will have to deal with her stupid soul mate later.

* * *

**_SIRIUS BLACK QUESTIONED IN GRINGOTTS BANK BREAK-IN INVESTIGATION!_ **

The headline flashes black and white on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Aveline’s breath catches in her throat and Draco’s hand finds hers under the table, squeezes hard. She hears him swallow next to her.

Her eyes instantly flick up to find first Blaise’s across from her, bleary from just waking up, and then her eyes find Theo’s, then Neville’s. Finally, her eyes find Harry’s. The Great Hall has erupted in whispers, snickers, vicious gossip.

Harry turns a shade of white no living human should ever be. She can see the tears forming in his eyes from where she sits. Weasley moves to clap him comfortingly on the shoulder, but he lurches up and off the bench, practically sprinting out of the Hall.

Instantly, Aveline is out of her seat, breakfast abandoned. Her feet pound on the stone floor, and a million eyes follow her out. Draco is right on her heels. The rest of the Circle dutifully follow. Five first year students from three houses run after the Boy Who Lived. Not his new, largely fake, friends.

Aveline can’t help but feel some satisfaction under all the concern.

They chase Harry to the forbidden third floor corridor; there, they are not likely to be disturbed. He draws his wand and blasts the door to an empty classroom out of his way. It slams against the stone walls with a bang. Draco slams it again behind them all. Neville bends over double, panting loudly.

“W-we’re here, H-Harry!” Neville says reassuringly, and promptly collapses on his bottom to the floor.

Harry flicks a glance at him, then proceeds to slide onto the large staff desk at the head of the room. He folds his legs under him and stares blankly at a wall, his jaw flexing.

Ah. There is the old Slytherin subtlety Aveline had feared gone for good.

“What’s going on, mate?” Theo asks.

“You sure know how to give a bloke a work out, Potter. My bacon hasn’t even digested yet,” Blaise complains, but manages to give Harry the clap on the back Weasley had been attempting.

“I don’t understand!” Harry explodes. “I don’t understand at all! Right before we came to Hogwarts, Sirius got something out of not only my vault, not only his, but also out of the one that got robbed! He took the only thing in there- _legally._ Or, I thought it was legal! The robbery wasn’t even detected until after we’d already left! He said it was Hogwarts business, something Dumbledore had asked him for, not to worry about it. If we were already gone, why is he being questioned? What if they just throw him right back in Azkaban? What if they just… they just… _UGH!_ ”

With that violent sort of grunt, every window in the dusty classroom explodes. Crisp autumn air flows in, giving Aveline goose bumps.

“What if Dumbledore refuses to help Sirius? What if he refuses to step in when Sirius is questioned and tell them what was in the vault to begin with? It’s not like Sirius knew. What if-”

Suddenly, Theo steps forward and places both hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Stop, Potter. Stop it. This isn’t going to help anything.”

“Black has incredible lawyers,” Blaise adds, hopping onto the desk to sit beside Harry. “Those people have _never_ lost a case, which is saying something considering their clients.”

“I can’t go back to Privet Drive,” Harry says and buries his face in his hands. “I can’t. I _can’t._ ”

Harry’s shoulders start to shake in small sobs.

“Harry, that would never happen. _Ever_. My parents would take you in a heartbeat,” Draco promises. Aveline feels his conviction and certainty through the link. She magnifies it with the strength of her love for Harry and sends it through the link to him.

He doesn’t look up, but he stops shaking. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. And if they couldn’t, you _know_ my Gran would,” Neville says. His breathing as almost managed to return to normal, but he’s still on the floor. “Gran worships you. Actually, it would be kind of cool to have another kid around.”

“Severus would help you, Harry. He’s been kind of hard on you lately, but he still cares about you,” Aveline says quietly. She tries to picture Harry living with them at Beathan and can’t quite complete the image, but she’s sure it would work somehow.

“You’re not alone, Potter,” Theo says quietly. He squeezes Harry’s shoulders once and then lets go.

“Maybe if you’d get your head out of all those Gryffindor arses, you’d know,” Aveline can’t help but grumble.

“Aveline!” Draco chastises.

“It’s true,” she persists.

Harry shakes his head and raises it. “No, she’s right Draco. I’m sorry, Aveline. I’m sorry about all of it. Ron is a great friend, and I think Seamus is alright, but the rest of them are a bit… perhaps it’s better to keep my distance for awhile. Until they prove they’re as great as all of you.”

They leave the shattered glass on the floor. After all, it’s not as though anyone will be in this corridor. It’s very forbidden.

Aveline can’t help but wonder why.

In any case, a forbidden corridor is a perfectly private place for the Circle to continue to meet once a week. No more separation, _ever again._


End file.
